The Life and Times of Shermaine Pines
by Jen-Garrett
Summary: Snapshots of the life of the youngest Pines sibling. Born 16 years after her brothers, she is left to grow up in the wake of a family torn apart. Chronicling how a unimpressive skinny Jewish kid from Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey got to be a successful Journalist, Activist, Mother, Grandmother, Matriarch, and the effect her brothers' falling out had on the whole Pines family.
1. Age 11: The Funeral

**Author's Notes:** (Reposted from AO3, Edited to suit )

Shermaine Pines is based on a bunch of head-canons I posted about the youngest Pines child, Shermy. This is essentially an AU where Shermy is the twins grandmother. That's it, everything else is canon compliant. She's 17 younger than the Stan twins (and yes she is the baby in ATOTS, slight timeline fuckery was needed. For time-lining reasons the current day is 2015 not 2012 as in the show canon. ) This fanfic started as a series of drabbles I wrote which show her and her brother(s) and the overall the state of her family at various ages. Later chapters include Mabel, Dipper and their father. Chapters are not in chronological order, that's intentional.

Also my head-canoned Pines family is hella Jewish, but I am not. I did my best to research the situations I wrote about but I apologies if I've inadvertently made any mistakes and would welcome corrections. I want to be respectful as possible here.

I track the tag 'shermaine pines tag' on tumblr if you want to ask me anything or tag me in anything related to this story. Here is an Extended Pines Family tree (with dates) and here is the 8tracks soundtrack that goes hand-in-in with this fic.

In case it's not made completely clear, any reference to Stanford "Ford" Pines in this chapter is actually his twin pretending to be him. This chapter takes place very very recently after the portal incident of '82, as"Ford" says less than two weeks. Yeah, Grunkle Stan is attending his own funeral. With a sister he's not seen since infancy. Good Job Stan.

* * *

Shermy Pines was fed up with her family.

Her father hadn't spoken a word of English to her in two whole days, instead communicating solely in nods and grunts. The shop was closed while they were away, but Pop hadn't spoken a word about money either despite his usual banter about profits and losses.

Her mom, on the other hand over spoke. She jabbered on and on about anything she could possibly think of: school, crystals, current events, work, stories anything that wasn't the issue that everyone was skirting around.

Her brother, Stanley was dead.

She'd heard her father on the phone to Ford, the night it happened. He'd been in an accident and crashed his car. The paramedics had pronounced him dead at the scene.

She'd never really heard much emotion in her Pop's voice apart from anger, disgust and his own brand of Fake Salesman Happiness. But, lying there in her own bed staring at Ford's old glow-in-the-dark constellations she had stuck to the ceiling, through the plywood-thin apartment walls 11-year-old Shermaine Pines heard her father cry.

She didn't know what to do with all these adults around her. Grownups had weird feelings with weird logic she couldn't understand. Her mom was sad and she kept crying, that at least seemed like a reasonable reaction but she only let herself cry when she thought no one was looking, and that was what confused her daughter.

She wasn't going to get in trouble for missing her son but still she was carrying on like she didn't miss him. To what end? Shermy couldn't see.

Perhaps it was some kind of competition? Her parents were competing who could show the least human emotion. It left a uncomfy feeling in her gut.

It was almost like her parents had been replaced by the golems from the creepy stories her Grandpa had told her. They moved around the house breathing earth and clay, and Sherm was the only Pines left made of flesh and blood, at least until her brother got there, that was.

* * *

"Hey Shermaine." Was all her brother had said to her when he got into the family car, at the airport.

He got in the backseat across from her, pushing his glasses up his nose like they were too small for him.

Six years and all she'd had was the odd phone call and a maybe a present or two for her birthdays or Hannukah. Six years and he'd left her an only child. He'd left her alone with Mom and Pop. She'd been alright, she'd created her own stories and fantasy worlds but Stanford was never there.

"It's been a long time, huh?" he added.

She didn't acknowledge him, instead watching the many paths of the raindrops dripping down the car window glass. Some drops mixed together into bigger ones others split and divided like crossroads leaving criss-cross sweater patterns in their trails.

Ford lapsed into silence, watching her. She glanced at him briefly, the brother she once idolised. There was a confusing degree of discomfort she felt when looking at him. Everything was tangled up and complicated.

Well, maybe Ford would understand what was going on but how could she explain it to him? He didn't even look like the big brother she remembered from when she was younger. He looked like a different person.

"Don't call me that. "she said, lips thin, her toes curled up tight inside her sneakers.

She spoke with far more bitterness than was probably ever expected from an eleven year old child, but bitterness that she had had plenty of chance to learn listening to her mother's pessimistic psychic patter on the phone.

He started, his tired smile dying on his lips.

"Oh. Okay. Sure. Whatever." He stared back at the headrest in front of him, his eyes all misty like they weren't actually seeing anything.

"Shermy! Don't be rude to your brother." Her mother scolded, glaring at her in the rear view mirror.

She stuck out her lip. She wasn't being rude, she thought. Still not brave enough to answer back to her mother. She just didn't like her full name. She preferred Shermy.

Okay, _yes_ , that and she had yet to make up her mind if could stay mad at her brother.

They stopped at a gas station on the way home from the airport. She waited until her Pop got out to pay and her Mom went inside to use the bathroom.

Then she took her chance.

"Everyone's acting so weird, Ford. Ihate it."

She bunched her hands into fists and buried her knuckles in the fabric of her jeans. Staring at the white bumps of bone beneath her skin.

"Yeah, kid. I know." He sighed, shaking his head, "Family is weird."

"Pop acts like he's got no feelings but nobody's stopping him from having feelings." She laughed, a little nervous. "It's not like the feelings police are going to lock him up because he loved his son and he's sad that he never told him!"

Stanford's eyebrows shot up, but she kept talking.

"Ugh, and Mom is everywhere at once she's so fluttery, she's giving me butterflies. It's like she has to put on this big play about how okay she is when… when..." her voice gave out on her.

She looked up him, searching his face for something she could remember. Taking in his eyes the same brown as hers, the 'Pines family nose', something their father and grandfather shared. The bags under his eyes, the tiny cuts on his chin and his stubble, his beat up glasses.

Shermy shook her head, her little fists squeezed even tighter. A few darker spots appeared on her jeans diffusing out like ink blots into tissue.

Through measured, hiccuping tears, she tried hard to keep her voice understandable. Was this how her mother felt? Maybe she was in the right. Maybe she'd be better off a golem.

She shook her head to dispel her thoughts.

"I'm not stupid. I know what's happening, Ford. I know he's dead."

Her voice came out sounding very pathetic in her own ears. Hands clenched tighter, she pushed them harder into her thighs.

"I never even got to meet Stanley… Mom and Pop wouldn't let me. Maybe if I had I'd be able to understand and maybe then I could feel sad too like a normal person but right now, I can't. Is that bad? Am I a bad sister?"

Stanford stared at her, uncomfortable. He cleared his throat.

"H-Hey there. Shermy-Sherm. Don't cry, you'll just make this weirder, for both of us."

She smiled at the dumb nickname, but that just made her cry more. Ford sat there for a bit. She could hear him stammering in uncertainty about what to do.

There was a click. Shermy looked up, Ford had unbuckled his seat-belt and shuffled into the middle seat so she would look at him. His hand in a black six-fingered glove rested on her shoulder.

Six fingers. She remembered that. She remembered the six fingers from when she was tiny, the six fingered hands that would help her balance on fence posts so she could walk along the top: the queen of her domain. Six fingered hands that had bought her the best books for her birthdays, books with pictures; a book with full colour pages of galaxies and when she was older, an illustrated atlas that she used to help her come up with settings for the stories and plays she made up with her school friends.

There was no longer any doubt in her mind, that this man, staring right at her, was her Stanford.

Her brother sighed. "Look kid. If anyone needs to be questioning their attitude it's me. You're eleven, and I don't mean that you shouldn't be upset because you're eleven, I mean the argument that made I- Stan leave is almost older then you are, and it was between me and my brother only. You were an actual baby when I- Ah, when he left."

Something in his phrasing got on her nerves, lying in wait. A little niggle of doubt and frustration.

"Our brother, Ford. Stanley was our brother. Mom and Pop wouldn't let me be his sister. Please don't you do it too!"

There was a brief pause in their heart-to-heart. She wiped at her face and nose with the back of her hand, turning her her focus back to the patterns her tears had made on the denim of her jeans. Her brother cleared his throat but said nothing for a while.

"I'm sorry, Sherm. " he said finally, he looked so much older than he was, much more his father today than anytime she remembered. "No one should be leaving you out of this, you're right. You're my sister, you're our baby sister. You're not a bad sister either, you are not to blame and anyone who says otherwise is talking bull. We're not going to forget about you, kiddo." Ford wiped at her cheek with a the closest thing to a smile he could manage.

She didn't have any more words, just more very quiet tears. She buried her face into his padded shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her in response, a little uncomfortable, a lot unsure of himself.

They were still like that when their parents returned. Her Pop didn't even acknowledge it, merely straightened his hat in the rear mirror, but Ma Pines looked on the verge of tears herself.

"What's wrong?" her mother asked, soft-voiced and worried.

She felt Ford shake his head. With her ear so close to his chest his voice boomed straight into her head when he spoke.

"Nothing you can fix, Mom." He said "Just leave her be."

He shifted his arm slightly so he wrapped up in a tighter side hug, with one six-fingered hand resting on her shoulder.

They stayed like that for the duration of the car ride home.

* * *

Now in her uncomfortable best Black dress she felt like she should be the one to be give Ford a hug. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt, shifting his weight from foot to foot in front of the full length mirror in their parents room.

He threw his hands up in the air with a noise of frustration as, he went to change his tie for the fifth time that day, finally returning with an old tweed bow tie that was definitely not their father's.

Her dress was starched so much she was pretty sure it could wear itself. The blue and white ribbons in her hair were her mother's final concession to let her keep some colour in her. She wasn't going to let these monochrome vampires bleed her Shermyness dry, so she'd put some flowers from the planters in her ponytail when her Mom was preoccupied.

Her Pop had disappeared early this morning only just now having come back. He smelt like whiskey and cigar smoke, it followed him around like a sad cloud. It hung in the car on the way to the funeral service, it stained his fingers yellow when he stopped to pat his daughter's cheek before they entered the funeral home. Together as a family.

The funeral home, was three quarters full, surprising, Sherm thought, considering how many of her relatives had actively disliked her eldest brother. Her aunt Selma had started crying before the service had even began. The very same woman who at her cousin's bar mitzvah not even a year ago had been loudly proclaiming how:

"We're just glad we never raised a Stanley." A glass of wine too many and she was ready to throw her own nephew under the bus.

No, she didn't get to recover from that in Shermy's mind.

"Evil witch," she hissed into Ford's ear, trying to force as much contempt she could into her glare as her eleven-and-three-quarter-year-old self could muster. "-She couldn't be happier to be rid of him when he was alive. She's so fake. I hate her" Ford actually chuckled, surprising her and drawing attention from their surrounding relatives. He tried to disguise it as a solemn coughing fit, buried in the crook of his elbow. But when the others looked away he shot his sister a knowing wink.

Before the service they had to stand up, her Ford and their parents. They were each given black ribbon pinned to their clothes.

"Ford.." she hissed again in a panic, elbowing him in the ribs when he didn't react. "What's the ribbon for? I've never been to a funeral before."

"It's okay, I'll help you do it, basically wait Mom and Pop start and rip it as hard as you can." He paused, and then with a sad lopsided smile he added: "It might help if you think about Aunt Selma." Shermy frowned. What was that supposed to mean?

The rabbi gave the signal. Ancient words she didn't understand, came booming recited in her father's voice deep and rich. Then the, sound of ripping.

On Shermy's left, stood her mother shaking like a leaf, with tremory hands she made her precise little tear. Her legs thin and trembling like they couldn't support the weight of her loss. Seventeen years of love and care, and ten more of grief bearing down on her dainty shoulders.

There were some things that even the most together eleven-year-old could not handle. Seeing your parents – the ones who clothed and bathed you, who taught you everything, who despite their glaring flaws loved you to the best of their ability –seeing them so very broken up, their faces all crumpled paper bags crying in their best suit and dress. Their eyes like frosted glass.

It was terrifying to a little girl. She felt everything too keenly. The emotions built up and up in a crescendo of feelings.

Finally she got so overwhelmed she tore at the ribbon with all her pent-up anger and fear. She tore it hard, staring down at the ripped ribbon and her shoes. When the rabbi started talking she was swimming in her anger, it lodged in her throat like a metaphorical frog.

She returned to her seat, ribbon pinned to her dress. She was angry, thinking about a family who pretended to care for a ghost and she was hurt, thinking about what it meant when what had always been two was now left with one.

The service itself was painful, a lot of adults talking in the same tone of voice,, many who Shermy suspected hadn't cared the slightest bit about Stanley when he was alive. Her father made a short speech, as did Stanford. Both were uncomfortable and shaky. Both spent more time expressing regret than talking about the man himself.

After that there was a long bit in Hebrew she didn't understand at all. Then at the end, her mother took her hand, squeezing it tight like it was the only thing still keeping her on the ground as they left the funeral home, followed by the box that held what was left of the brother she never met.

* * *

It wasn't raining at the Cemetery. In fact it was pretty and green with decorative gardens of tulips kept in uniform coloured squares, that Shermy would have gone to inspect in any other situation but this one.

 _'The Addams Family'_ had lied to her again! There weren't any visible cobwebs or skeletons, just rows of raised marble headstones and markers.

And an open grave.

Her stomach started with a somersault and ended up doing a whole Olympic routine.

 _Stanley's grave._

"Son of a…." At her side, Ford froze mid-swear as he remembered her presence. He trailed off. "Uh. I mean this is just.."he shuddered, gesturing at the grave they stood beside.

"I can't believe … I mean two, three weeks ago if you told be I'd be burying my twin brother before me. I don't think I'd have believed you." He said, shaking his head.

Shermy's eyes began to prick. She looked from her brother to the grave, and back from the grave to her brother. She stared at her feet, her good leather shoes sprinkled with dust from the gravel driveway.

"It's not fair." She whispered, clinging with limp hands, to Ford's jacket at the hem.

"It never is, kiddo." He replied, watching the rest of the mourners arrive at the graveside in shades of black and gray. The hearse and pall-bearers visible from the parking lot. Shermy scrunched up her face, with all her righteous indignation at the universe.

"Bu-but it's like breaking up a pair!"she cried.

Something dark hurt, and angry passed over Stanford's face, but it didn't last more this a second.

He took a gloved hand from his pockets and clasped her hand in his.

"It is, sweetie. That's exactly what it is."

The graveside service was a lot less adults talking about things they knew nothing about and more, everyone reciting prayers she didn't know the words to. She didn't mind that so much, the sounds washed over her in waves of comfort.

Most of the words held no meaning for her, but still felt reassuring, with lilts and falls like a song from another time. Shermy shut her eyes tight. In her world there was nothing else but the peaks and crests of Hebrew and the warmth of Ford's gloved hand in hers.

* * *

Once the rabbi had read the final prayers, it was time for the burial. Sherm was grateful her mother had at least explained that bit to her before they got there.

The family waited til the extended network of cousins and aunts and uncles had all placed their handful or shovelful of dirt on to the casket, then it was their turn.

Her father took a while, shovel ling several lots of dirt then standing staring at it, his lips moving constantly. He looked a lot older, Shermy thought, without his hat on. Finally he looked back at his remaining son and daughter and nodded once solemnly. A man of few words as always

Her mother was up next, she stumbled forward like a baby giraffe. Where her Pop had used the back end if the shovel her mother used her hands, She fell down on both her knees, the ground scratching up her stockings. She knelt forward visibly sobbing emptying fistfuls of earth into the grave, her palms turned upwards facing the sky, dirt falling through her fingers until, she doubled over wailing. A primal screeching nose, that burned like bile at the back of Shermy's throat.

Filbrick Pines, rushed to his wife's side.

"Opal, _Opal_. Come on, darl." Her father's voice; usually hard as reinforced steel, was soft and full of a kindness Shermy never recalled hearing before.

He wiped his clay-stained hands on his suit pants first. Then gently he helped his wife up to stand, enveloping her in a bear hug. One hand on the small of her back another on the back of her head, pressing against the braid she wore her thick dark hair in.

"He's not _there_ Opal. He's gone to another place now." Filbrick said gently, trying his darnedest to console her. He glanced back at Ford and Shermy once more before slowly helping her stumble forward.

Their mother's sobbing was still audible as their father led her away even when they were out of view.

Ford cleared his throat hurriedly, and gave her hand a long squeeze.

"Come on, Shermy-Sherm. Let's go together." he said, straining to keep his tone upbeat.  
She nodded.

Her world was slowly spinning out of control and she didn't know how to fix it. The only constant thing to her right now was her brother's six-finger hand in her own.

They approached the grave together. It was so very underwhelming, a wooden box and a hole in the earth, she was at least hoping for some kind of ornate Scooby-Doo catacomb. But it couldn't be less conspicuous if it tried.

Shermy stood there deadly silent. She had to soak in every detail, this was an important thing, of that she was certain.

There was: A pile of dirt,a hole in the earth, and a box containing her dead brother.

In the muddy grass in front of the dirt pile there were the imprints of her mother's knees. A shiver ran down her was such a wrongness to today.

"Do you know what to do?" Ford asked, picking up the shovel from where their father had dropped it.

She nodded. "I do. It's just I don't know what to say."

"You don't _have_ to say anything, kid. I'm sure he'd understand."

"But I _want_ to!" she cried staring at Ford, her eyes wide and shining.

Her brother waved towards the dirt "Off you go then."

"Can you go first?" she asked "Please, Ford. You knew him better!"

Stanford sighed, running a hand back through his hair.

"Ah, fine sure. Move out the way a bit."

Ford stuck the shovel in and pulled up a huge mound of dirt, he held it over the edge of the hole, so the dirt showered down like raindrops.

He stepped back and wiped at his eyes and brow.

"Look F-f… _brother_ ….I'm sorry. I'm sorry for- what happened…I wish I'd never…. " He trailed off and kicked at a clod of earth with a guttural noise of frustration.

He tried to speak again and it came out in mumbles, "Look, what I mean is, you were right… I'm such an idiot."

He shoveled up another lump of earth and poured it on top of the box.

"I was just stuck in the past. I'm a selfish piece of…" he stopped, glancing at Shermy "Uh…piece of work. You didn't deserve all this. I- If I could tell you I was sorry face to face than I'd do it. In a heartbeat."

He lay down the shovel with a thump.

"But hey, instead here's me, talking to _a great big hole in the ground_."

He walked a little way off just to put space between himself and the grave, arms crossed tightly across his chest.

After a pause he nodded for his sister to step closer.

"Your turn now, kid", he said.

Shermy, who had listened to all of this with an angry confused weight in her chest growing bigger and bigger, nodded and stepped forward.

She lent down and picked up a big handful of dirt in each hand and peered over the edge into the expanse of the grave.

Her feelings felt to big for her body.

Too big for any sounds she could string into words to convey.

She wanted to go home, but even home didn't feel right just now

"Hi Stanley." She said, In a quivering voice, to the hole in the ground. "My name is Shermaine….I'm, um I'm your sister."

The hole did not talk back.

As she was talking she opened her hand slowly so some of the dirt slipped out, and kept opening it until the dirt was all gone.

Ford chuckled to himself, despite the situation. "I'm certain he knows who you are, kiddo"

Shermy shrugged. With 17 years between them she wouldn't blame him if he didn't.

"Yeah, okay. Well I wish I got to know you Stanley, I hope we would have been friends. We never got to meet but you were my brother and I love you. Mom, Pop and Ford love you too. it's just sad they couldn't say that when you were alive." Her voice was quivering, was that good enough?

She hoped he didn't mind, and that wherever Stanley was he wasn't angry at her or his twin.

As she relinquished the rest of the dirt it made a pattering noise, like rain on a tin roof. She stood there staring into the grave, frozen still. Wiping at her wet face.

Ford came up beside her and crouched himself down to her height, with his hands on her shoulders.

"That was good, Shermy." He said. "You did fine." He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

Feeling too heavy and too human for ten-and-three-quarter years life experience, Shermy leaned forward and her brother wrapped up in his arms.

He smelt like wet earth and dust.

She could still feel Ford's lips against her skin.

She thought once more of the golem, sent back to the grave with the word "dead" marked onto it's forehead.

She was cold. Her eyes hurt, but no more tears fell from them. Her chest was hollow.

How would she even know if she was dead herself?

Ford's voice jolted her out of the blackness in her head.

"Come on, then. Mom and Dad are waiting by the car. We better follow everyone else home for the shivah."

She nodded against his chest and he pulled away.

As they headed towards the path towards the other parking lot away from the graveside, a sudden thought stopped her dead in her tracks, startling her brother into stopping too.

"What? What's wrong?" he asked over his shoulder. "Did you drop something?"

Shermy shook her head. "I forgot to say goodbye." She said.

Ford crinkled up the bridge of his nose, like he didn't know what to say.

He smoothed down his lapels and turned around to face her.

"Well… okay, just say it now. We're still in the Cemetery. As far as I see it shouldn't matter if you say it over there or here, a hundred yards down the road."

Shermy looked at her brother, then back in the direction they had just come from.

"Goodbye, Stanley." She said to the air. Some of the weight on her chest, loosened and drifted off into the air.

Ford took her hand, dwarfed in his six-fingered grip.

And hand-in-hand the two remaining Pines siblings, kept on walking.


	2. Age 6: The Theory of Gravity

**Author's Notes:**

(Just an FYI this story is complete and posted on AO3 but i'm reposting it here for backup and more visibility but it does mean some of my formatting and links get lost in the crossover, also all of the A/Ns are a month or two old)

This chapter got long, like holy shit the amount of words I can write while procrastinating on actual academic papers never fails to amaze me. As I said before these chapter won't be chronological. This chapter is set in the mid to late 70s, the flashback is a year earlier. I have a loose timeline for this AU but because of the show it's a little vague and viable to change) in contrast to last chapter Ford Pines in this chapter = Actually Stanford Filbrick Pines, the Author etc. As this is before the portal incident, and Ford has only recently moved to Gravity Falls. I've tried to be diligent as possible in my research but if any little thing seems out of place let me know, especially in regards to Jewish things.

Any comments or reviews would be much loved from me.

* * *

"You're not like your brothers, Shermaine." said the Principal's secretary, when her mother was busy filling in the last of the enrollment forms.

"No." Said Shermy with the no nonsense dismissal of a young child not yet taught to be passive in her aggression,

"I'm a girl. They're boys. I'm me. They're not. 's different " She stared up at the old woman, she had silver hair and those sticky-out winged glasses that made her look like a clown.

Shermy didn't like her. There was nothing wrong with her brothers. Plus she called her Shermaine.

"Can I get my crayon book now?" she asked her mother, who was still hunched over the paperwork at the front desk, biting on her pen. Shermy looked back at the secretary.

"I'm gonna get a colouring book." She said, not because she really wanted the woman to know, but rather she had learnt very early on in her development, that the only way to ensure Ma Pines came through on her promises was to have a witness to catch her in the act.

"A crayon book, with rockets." She added. The rockets hadn't been specified but this woman wasn't to know that and she was her witness. She could live a little.

"Do you like rockets, Shermaine?" she asked, with that same insipid baby voice most grownups used when they spoke to her. It wasn't nice or whatever they thought it was, it just made her want to kick them in the knees.

"Yeah." She said with a shrug, this women was stupid, why would else would she want a space themed book? Of course she did. "M'brother got me a book of pictures. From NASA."

"From NASA?" Asked the principal's secretary, impressed.

Shermy nodded. She looked over at her mother, pleading for backup. What was with grownups, constantly repeating words and pretending it was conversation? It didn't follow any logic in her head. If you don't have anything to add, don't add anything. It was common sense.

"Look out, you're gonna have a little astronaut in the family at this rate, Mrs Pines!" Joked the woman. Shermy tensed up as the words left her mouth, the woman was skating around a point of Pines Family contention, and what was worse was she was most likely doing it on purpose.

Shermy glanced up at her mother, trying to read her expression. Her face was covered by the strands of dark hair not properly pinned up in her beehive.

Her mother laughed, the dry tittering laugh she used on inappropriate family members and her father's more off-colour jokes.

"I hope not, it's hard enough to keep a kid on this damn rock as is."

"How are the twins, if you don't mind me asking?"

This woman was so full of it, Shermy thought balling up her little hands into tight fists. Everyone in New Jersey knew what had happened with her brothers, five years past now. Dogs probably even knew about it. It had long died out of interest in their street's gossip circle, it was dead news.

She had to give her mother credit, though. She looked up from her paperwork again, and blinked her heavy-shadowed lilac eyelids, a forced smile on her face.

"Stanley… well Kathryn, I'm sure you've heard what happened with our Stanley by now." She said, and only Shermy noticed her tell of annoyance in the tap-tapping of her long acrylic nails, against the desk top."And Stanford, got a grant for his thesis. He ranked in the top twenty nationwide."

With long, deliberate flap of her dark lashes, and a click of her pen, her mother went back to filling in forms as if the other woman hadn't just taken a punt at a six-year-old trauma. Sherm wouldn't admit it aloud, lest it go to her already big head, but her Ma could be kinda cool at times.

"Well, we knew that boy would get places, he always was such a hard worker. You must be so proud of him." The Kathryn women was all crinkly eyes and fake cheer.

Shermy was annoyed, she didn't know Stanley so she couldn't speak to defend him. But she knew Ford, and he wasn't money or his reputation.

This schoolhouse woman didn't know her brother at all.

Ford Pines was warm hugs and stories of long-dead men. Tweed jackets that smelt of gunpowder.

He was six fingered hands stained with chemicals whose names were too long for her to say.

Ford wasn't any of the achievements this woman and her parents could list.

Ford was complicated, he was softly sad and despite all her attempts to cheer her brother up when he came to stay there was something in his lopsided smile that she could never make happy.

Ford was twitchy. Ford got distracted a lot and was always writing something down, even at the dinner table his eye contact would slide away and he could be found scribbling something unreadable on to a napkin.

He shared their dad's quiet sense of moral judgement, and their Ma's gift of the gab, but only if you got him talking about a topic he was interested in. To simplify him to his brain alone was to do the man a disservice. Heck, she was six and she could understand that.

When the paperwork was handed in and everything was approved, they left the school. Her mother offered a mouthful of fake farewells to Kathryn, who Shermy suspected she also disliked.

"Ya know, Sherm just can't wait to start school in the new term!" she oozed.

She was lying, per usual. 'Sherm' wanted nothing to do with this red-bricked child prison.

In reality, there was nothing else she wanted than to live in perpetual freedom playing on the beach, with her toys, off in her own world. Well, okay maybe there was one thing.

"Ma, when is Ford coming back to visit?" she asked, quickening her pace to keep up with her mother's as they made their way out of the school gates, heading towards the grocery store less than a block away.

Opal Pines sighed, looking at her daughter with a fond smile, "I don't know, bubbele. He's a very busy bee, your brother. Maybe when you're older you can go visit him in Oregon. If it doesn't interfere with his work. You were lucky enough to see him for Hersch's wedding last year. He's an adult, hon. He can't always be around to play with you."

Shermy curled up her bottom lip, and stuck her hands in the pocket of her overalls, it was a hot August day, and most of her friends were away visiting relatives.

So Shermy was stuck running errands with her mother, despite the fact she was uncomfortable and sticky and bored. She wanted to go swimming with her brother. Go hang out at the pier, with her brother. Maybe even have a water fight.

What was so important with his dumb science stuff that the guy couldn't even have come and stayed with the family for Hanukkah? Even just a couple of days he didn't even have to stay the whole week if he was really that busy.

It was so lonely on holidays without him, yet another empty seat at the dinner table.

It made it that much harder on her parents too. To have one son banished and the other too busy to even stop by.

What use were twin brothers if you didn't even get to have one of them, she thought, what kind deal was that? 'Buy two, get none free'?

An empty soda can, lay on the sidewalk just out of her reach, she walked out of her way to kick it into the gutter.

It made a satisfying tinny _plink_ and it bounced into the drain. Her mother smacked her carmine lips together, her signature sign that Shermy was doing something annoying.

She fell back into step beside her, the central mall stretching out in front of them, lined with shops and offices.

The Ford she knew used to carry her on his shoulders, he'd sit down on the pier with her and listen to her babble. Her parents never actually listened.

They meant well but her father always said he didn't make money from being a 'bleedin' heart' (which was a good thing, Shermy thought, because if his heart was bleeding he might die.) and as much as she loved her mother, she knew better than let her know the full truth of anything just like she'd learnt not to take anything she said at face value.

* * *

The smell of frying dough snapped her out of her moping. There was a young guy in a paper hat running a food stand across the street from the store.

"Mom, can I get a pretzel!?" she cried, looping her arm through her mother's, feeling her bangles press up against her bare skin.

"Stop hangin' off me, bubba, you're not a grape." Opal glanced at the stand she was pointing at and smacked her lips again. "Ya' got pretzel money?"

Shermy's head drooped, her mother knew perfectly well that she didn't. She was six. She had only just started learning to read. Where did a pre-schooler get an income?

"We'll have food at home, hon. besides I said I'd get you that colouring book. One bribe per trip, that's the rule. Don't get greedy, now. You know what greedy girls get?"

"Nothing." Said Shermy, dejected. Her stomach rumbling, it was coming up to lunchtime and she'd gotten up early that morning, she'd woken up close to dawn, full of ideas, too excited to stay in bed. So breakfast was a long time ago, ancient history even. She sighed, it was a dramatic head-shaking sigh she had learnt mimicking her mother, working on the phone. But her Ma just laughed.

"Come on, you _putz_. We haven't got all day."

She followed her mother into the store.

Shermy was well acquainted with the Glass Shard Beach Stop and Drop Superette.

The doe-eyed older woman at the counter was called Violet and she knew all the secrets of the known universe, she'd worked there since her brothers were babies.

Sherm theorised she was older than time itself because she called everyone "Child', even Stanford, who was like twenty-three and practically a pensioner as far as Shermy was concerned. But Violet got away with it, no one questioned her age or her expansive knowledge of everything that happened in town.

She was a 4'10' prophet, with her salt and pepper braids and a Southern drawl. Last week Shermy noticed she had the letters L-O-V-E tattooed on her right hand.

She was a little bit terrified of Violet.

She just followed her mother dutifully through the aisles, staring straight ahead, not daring to let herself look at the plethora of wonder which lined the shelves: Shortbread, chocolate, Name-brand cereals.

None of that was going anywhere near their cart. Her stomach growled louder.

"Keep up, hon." Said her mother, power-walking ahead. "We're almost at the magazine aisle."

That brightened up Shermy's pace. The magazine aisle meant colouring in books and her well-earned reward.

She chose a book called 'Shooting Stars" that had a variety of space scenes: comets, moons and planets for her to colour in.

"What ya got there, child?" asked Violet, when they got to the checkout. Shermy held up the book for her to see.

"You like all that space stuff too?"

"Too?" she asked, thinking of Stanford and his bottomless well of astronomy factoids.

"Yeah, my sisters little grandchild, Mae" Violet said with a smile.

"She loved all that starry stuff when she was you're age. Now she's studyin' at in some Ivy League school in New York, she started there at 16."

"Wow, that's young." Enthused Opal, glancing from the older woman to her daughter "you must be very proud of her."

Violet nodded her braided head, "I just wish she'd get her head outta the clouds and come spend some time with her family."

Shermy felt her mother's hand stroking her shoulder.

"Well, Sherm's got all the time in the world to worry about what she wants to be when she's older." she said.

"Ain't that the truth." Violet handed Opal her shopping. "Don't be in a rush to grow up, little one."

Shermy frowned, all she'd meant to do was show off her new present.

* * *

Back at home, after lunch, Shermy helped clean and put the plates away.

"Ma, can I use the table to draw on?" she asked.

The desk in her room was too high up for her to sit at comfortably, and right now it was covered in boxes upon boxes of her brothers' stuff.

"I'm about to start working in here, hon. Why don't you go play outside with your friends, or something?"

"Everyone's on vacation. I wanna do my colouring in."

Filbrick wiped his sandwich crumbs off his chin with a handkerchief, which he put back in his jacket pocket.

"Well, I'm going back to re-open the shop." He said, picking up his plate and taking it to the sink.

Opal nodded, without a word. A chart of horoscopes rolled out on the table in front of her.

"Pop, can I come sit with you in the shop?"

Filbrick studied his daughter for a few long seconds. Then he reached a hand out and ruffled her soft brown head, mussing up her hair.

"Alright, small fry. But don't harass the customers, capiche?"

Shermy nodded firmly, shaking her bangs into her eyes. "C-capiche." She said.

Her father's moustache quivered. It was the closest he ever got to a smile.

She grabbed her crayons and her books, plus some paper in case she thought of any stories to draw and, because she was still hungry, grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl.

"Keep out of trouble, bubs." Called her mother as they headed downstairs.

Sherm looked back over a shoulder to catch a glimpse of her mother at work: thick black hair up and back out of her face, the phone cradled in the crook of her neck, idly flipping through a book of the Major Arcana.

"Come on, kiddo." Barked her father behind her. "Don't stop on the stairs."

"Sorry, dad." Shermy said, hopping down the stairs two at a time, leaning her weight on the balustrade, so she'd slide down faster.

Pine's Pawns itself was a rather cramped space. There was the shop window, where they put the most enticing items on display.

Then there was the shop floor with its peeling linoleum, the counter and the bigger area behind the counter where she sat with her father, in front of the safes.

"Go turn the sign." Instructed her father, "I need to check the cash register."

Shermy did as he asked and unlocked the front door if the shop. Outside, the afternoon street was fairly empty.

She saw Lori Kaufmann taking out the trash from the waffle place next door, where she worked.

Lori saw her watching and waved at her, her copper coloured hair tied up in bunches. Shermy waved back, turning as red as a tomato. Lori always had such pretty hair.

"Sign's done, dad." She said.

"Alright, now keep out of my hair okay?"

"'Kay" she said, biting back the cheeky response of "What hair?" that rushed to her tongue, deciding she better not if she would like to live to see seven. Shermy put her apple on the counter and got out her crayons and the new colouring in book her mother had bought her that morning. She turned her attention to filling in the galaxies and the planets in a kaleidoscope of colours, greens and pinks and blues.

A few hours went by, Shermy didn't really notice. Sucked into the vacuum of space, colouring in moons and comets in a swirl of bright yellow and orange.

A few customers came in, the kind, her father called the "Ummers" they milled around "Um-ing" and "Ah-ing" but never actually buying or selling anything. Just killing time. She could tell they got on her father's nerves but he never actually said anything, he had his Fake Happy Salesman act that he put on .

Finally around 3 o clock, a young guy came in to the shop. He'd been hanging around the shop front peering in the window, like he was trying to make up his mind about something he until he finally came in.

He was a skinny guy, tall and gangly like Ford, with close cut dark hair and long eyelashes. He wore a suit too big for him with patches at the elbows.

"Afternoon, sir." Said her father, all bristly charm. Sherm could see the cartoon dollar signs light up in his eyes. She wasn't sure why, this guy looked worse off then they were.

"A-afternoon." He said with a bit of a stutter. "I've G-got something I was looking to p-pawn. It might not b-be sellable though…"

Filbrick shrugged "It's worth a look at anyway."

The man reached into the leather satchel bag at his hip. He pulled out a long skinny square box, some kind of hard leather case.

Filbrick scratched his moustache "If it's a gun I need your license number, for legal reasons."

The customer unclasped the case and opened it,

"It's n-not a weapon." He said.

Shermy gasped, and the man glanced at her with a small smile. It was a telescope, a retractable handheld telescope made of bronze with a wooden inlaid grip. It was beautiful.

Her father rubbed his temple and shifted his weight in his seat.

"I see what you, mean. it's a bit of a niche thing. But I'll buy it."he said.

"You will?" the man had sad green eyes, that shone with things she couldn't decipher. She wondered what his story was. Why would anyone give up such an amazing thing?

"I'll give you forty dollars for it" he said after some thought.

"F-forty?"

Her father grunted a yes.. "It'll be harder to sell but I'll take that risk."

The man nodded, eyes shining even brighter.

"I'll t-take it, thank you." There was such an incredulous tone to his voice Shermy wanted to give him a hug.

Her father stood up and moved to open the cash register "Cash or cheque?"

"Uh, c-cash, please."

Her father gave him four ten dollar notes. "Here you go, sir."

"Oh, thanks, th-thank you so much for this!" He said taking the money and shaking her father's hand.

"Oh!" he said, suddenly remembering something. He reached back onto the satchel.

"It comes with an extra lens for magnifying further." Filbrick took the lens and put aside on the counter next to Shermy's apple.

"Is that everything? Her father asked.

The young man nodded. "Yes, it is. Th-thank you for everything."

"No problem, sir. You have a good afternoon, now."

"Yes you t-too." He nodded an acknowledgment to Shermy before he walked out the shop door and soon disappeared out of their view.

"Poor bastard." Said her father, more to himself than anything.

"Pop?" she asked, her mother would have scolded him for the language but she was out of earshot, hard at work upstairs. Shermy was merely curious.

What did her dad see that she didn't?

"Shermaine, look at this telescope. It's maybe not worth a lot but, this is an heirloom. " he said looking at her with unbreaking eye contact even through his shades.

"You don't sell something like this unless you've got nothing else left to sell. That kid doesn't have much else in the world, did ya look at his shoes?

She shook her head. She was too short to see that far over the counter.

"They'd been resoled a couple times, the colour of the leather didn't match. Plus his laces were frayed to bits.."

Sherm looked down at her bare feet and then over at her father's wingtip.

They were a mustard coloured leather with matching soles, his shoelaces were neat and tied in a bow.

"Poor guy." She said. She couldn't imagine having to sell something so dear. "Maybe he doesn't have a family to go to."

How lonely must that be? She thought.

Filbrick grunted, not looking her in the eye.

"Pass me that sticker gun." he said pointing at the labeller in front of her on the far side of the counter.

Shermy stretched her little arms out and grabbed the gun, her elbow connected with something.

"Watch out" her father said.

She looked back as she'd flicked the apple and the glass lens off the counter top, suspended in the air.

* * *

 _(A year earlier)_

It had been the morning after her cousin, Herschel's wedding, they'd got home late the night before, Shermaine had fallen asleep in the car as they drove over the state lines. Eventually the car had stopped, she remembered that much, then through sleep-heavy eyelids she caught a glimpse of a dark grey lapel that smelt of home.

Then came the reassuring sensation of arms carrying her up the stairs. She'd been so tired she'd fallen asleep on top of the covers halfway through getting dressed. She woke up early in the morning still wearing her good party dress, someone had at least had taken her shoes and socks off, probably her mother who had tucked her in.

Shermy remembered waking to the soft sound of scribbling below her. She'd hung her face down from the top bunk, to see who was there. Of course, she'd forgotten her brother was staying with them.

Stanford sat up in bed, writing. His glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, his hair was mussed and sticking out in all directions. He was wearing his undershirt from the night before, Sherm could see his actual shirt and suit jacket hanging from her bedroom doorknob.

"Boo!" she said, her voice low enough as not to wake their parents down the hall.

Ford had jumped a mile, smacking his head on the slats of the bunk above him.

"Ow, Shhh- _Sugar_!" he cursed, rubbing his head. "Mornin' to you too, ya monkey."

"That's why I have the top bunk." Shermy explained, dangling her feet over the side. She stretched her arms up towards the ceiling, not quite touching it. "I can't hit my head, up here."

Ford chuckled, wiping some sleep from his eye.

"You wouldn't hit your head on the bottom bunk either, you're the size of a pea."

"Am not!" she said, pouting.

"Are too." he replied with a yawn.

"Hey Ford, watcha' writing. Is that your diary?' her brother folded shut the burgundy book and stuck his pen behind his ear, with a soft smile.

"It's a journal."he said.

"Like for a newspaper?"

"No, not exactly. It's notes from my research."

"So you're working?" she slid down the ladder like it was a fireman's pole. Landing on the balls of her feet with a plonk.

"Uh- well.. yes, but just until you woke up ."

"Oooh _Stanford_ , you're working. It's a _Saturday_."

Ford rolled his eyes, and slipped the book back into his bag.

"It's not even 6am, _Shermaine_. Anyway I couldn't sleep, I had to do something."

"Well I'm awake too now!"

"You are, indeed."

"Wanna go for a walk or something? To the beach." She suggested, her head already spinning suggestions like a slot machine. Here she was with untapped access to her most important resource of all time: Free time with Ford!

"Sure, I could go for a walk. But you ought to get changed first." He said pointing at her dress."Ma'll skin us both if you get that dirty."

Sherm didn't exactly have a variety of nice outfits her mother deemed suitable for formal events or Temple, and even those were hand-me-down's from her cousin Sarah.

Still, she didn't want to take any chances to incur her mother's wrath.

She nodded, happily skipping over to her wardrobe and changing into a clean shirt and jeans.

"I don't 'member going to bed last night." She said brushing her hair out of her face and tying it up in a ponytail.

Ford pulled a clean T-shirt over his head and searched around on the floor for the slacks he'd worn the day before.

"You were out like a light, I didn't have the heart to wake you. So I carried you in from the car while Mom and Pop unpacked."

"Thanks Ford but 'm not a baby. I'm five now."

"Oh, well I'm sorry. You're my baby sister, I mean you'll practically always be a baby in my eyes. Even when you're eighty."

Shermy scrunched up her face, in a mask of fake-annoyance and stuck out her tongue at him.

To her delight, her academically decorated, reclusive scientist brother did the same and blew her a raspberry.

She doubled over in giggles, but had to cover her mouth to stop herself from making too much of racket.

"Shall we go to the beach, then?" asked Ford putting on his big trench coat, despite it being quite nice out.

Shermy's heart leapt, "Okay!"

"Hold on, I'll just leave Ma a note." He scribbled something on a post note in pretty curling letters and stuck it to the dining table.

They'd walked hand-in-hand down their street, through the shortcut behind the donut store that lead to the pier.

They found a spot to sit on the boardwalk where they could see the orange tinted New Jersey sky stretched wide across the horizon.

The beach was empty. The sea was blue and unbroken, still as a pond. Only a handful of little boats were dotted nearby, like paint splats on the water.

"Hey Ford?" Sherm asked, swinging her dangling legs off the side of the boardwalk.

Her brother was flicking through another book, not the journal he'd been writing in this morning. This looked like some kind of sketch-pad.

"Mm?" he glanced up at her briefly, still browsing. There was a pencil behind his ear she noticed, just in case, he got struck by ideas mid-walk.

"What's Oregon like?"

"Not like this." He said gesturing across the expanse of sand, sea and sky with one six-fingered hand.

He thought for a while, thinking about how to phrase his words.

"Well, the town where I live: in Gravity Falls it's nice, a very quiet place in the woods, it's very…well very, different from here." He said, crinkles forming in the corners of his eyes.

"Is that a good thing?" She asked again. There was something about how he dismissed Glass Shard Beach with a sweep of his hand that didn't sit right with her.

Ford chuckled at that. He smiled at her, such a sad, lopsided smile that made her chest hurt.

 _What's going on?_ she thought. _Why does his smile make me sad?_

"Well, I guess that depends if you like it here or not." He said.

Shermy squeezed her little hands into fists. A few hundred feet in front of them a kingfisher swooped down to catch something it had seen glistening in the ocean.

"I like it here" she said, slowly unclenching her hands again. "It's my home."

"Mm." Ford mumbled. The rising sun reflected off his glasses so for a moment she couldn't see his eyes. "Change is good too, sometimes."

"Don't you miss it?"

"I mean, I miss the people. You, Ma and Pop and St-..stuff."

"But not places?" She asked, electing to step over the gaping wound Ford had nearly opened up in the conversation. She was five but she wasn't entirely ignorant. Despite the void in her heart filled with questions, "what ifs"and curiosity, Stanley was a matter better left well enough alone.

"No, not places. Not really."

There was a lull where they both said nothing.

This wasn't what Shermy had expected when she suggested they talk a walk.

Though she was quickly learning there were many parts of her brother that were unexpectable.

Her stomach growled loudly, interrupting her tonight's with the reminder that they hadn't had breakfast yet.

Her brother looked up in surprise, and seeing her face he laughed. A proper, rich familiar chuckle. It was like warmth to her ears.

Ford reached into one of his many coat pockets and pulled out an unblemished red apple. Shermy's eyes grew huge.

"Is that why your pockets are so big? They're full of snacks?"

Ford laughed again. "They're full of secrets!" he said with a wink.

She giggled, though she suspected that was probably at least somewhat true,

Here, catch." He said, throwing it her way. Shermy caught the apple in two hands, and rubbed it on her shirt.

"Thanks." She said, inspecting the fruit.

Her brother grinned at her, squinting with the sun in his eyes. He looked like such a goof, she thought.

"Nice work, Sherm. You're already a better catch than Isaac Newton."

"Isaac who?" she said, scrunching up her face, in thought.

There was an an Isaac on their street whose sister she sometimes played with but their last name was Berkowitz. She didn't know any Newtons.

"You've never heard of him." He surmised.

She shook her head no, sensing a story was coming.

Ford was staring off into the horizon, combing a hand back through his hair.

There was a light breeze that smelt of sea salt and dead fish. It was oddly comforting in a familiar kind of way. The smell of freedom and fresh air.

The breeze blew Shermy's bangs into her eyes. She brushed them aside.

"He was a British scientist, who is credited with formulating one of the first theories of gravity." He paused, scratching his nose. "You know what Gravity is, right?"

"It makes stuff fall down, and also makes us not float up into space." She said, fairly certain he'd explained the concept to her before.

Ford gave her a surprised side eyed glance "Y-yes, essentially that's it. Well, the story goes Isaac was once sitting with some friends under an apple tree in his garden, when an apple fell out of the tree above them and hit him on the head, and he thought, why do apples fall down? Why don't they fall up or sideways?"

Shermy narrowed her eyes at the fruit in her hands. She tossed it a little way above her she then caught it again. The apple fell downwards. "Because of gravity?" she said.

Ford nodded, his glasses slipping down his nose.

"Exactly. Gravity pulled the apple towards the centre of the earth."

"He got all that from an apple to the head?"

"Well, the story might be a little exaggerated but it's still one of my favourite anecdotes, no matter if it isn't strictly true. The Important moral is to always ask why? Why does the tide goes in and out? Well because of the pull of the moon. Why is the sky blue? Well because blue light is scattered more than red light in earth's atmosphere so we see it as blue on a sunny day."

She thought about this, turning it over and over in her head. Sure "Why?" was always a good question to ask, but in Shermy's world all it did was get her in trouble.

She had a hole in her chest filled with untapped, unasked "Whys" and a few bubbled up toward the surface.

 _Why don't you come visit me anymore?_

 _Why does Ma sometimes cry when she thinks I'm not looking?_

 _Why did you move across the country just to get away from here?_

 _Why does the Rabbi look at us with sad eyes when it is time for the fast of the firstborn?_

 _Why did Stanley leave?_

 _Why did I never get to be his sister?_

 _Why does no one tell me anything?_

She didn't ask any of these questions, instead she shuffled over and leaned against her brother as he stared out at the sea, his sketch pad in his lap.

She took a big bite out of the apple, and while savouring the sweetness, she tried to imagine Isaac Newton sitting in his garden with the apple in his hand.

* * *

Remembering all this a year, later. In a flood of emotions, Six-year-old Shermy Pines found herself frozen in place: an apple caught in her hand, a telescope lens in the other.

"Good catch, Shermaine." Her father murmured, dryly. Taking the lens from her, cleaning it, then putting it away again in the leather case it came in.

"Yeah." She said. She took a bite of the apple.

It wasn't as sweet as she expected, if anything it was kind of floury and disappointing.

"Hey, Pop?" she asked.

Her father grunted in response.

"How much would it a telescope like this cost?"

"Second-hand?" he said, putting a sticker on the case reading $200. "Maybe fifty bucks."

Shermy looked from the sticker on the case to her father's unchanging face.

"Oh, Okay." She said, her hopes falling.

Filbrick sighed, he fixed his daughter with a look, over the top of his sunglasses.

His left eye the same warm brown as her own, his right eye was milky and scarred, his jowls and moustache quivered.

"Tell ya what, squirt. There ain't much business for telescopes in these parts. We don't have much fancy scientist types in Glass Shard.. If it's still here in three weeks, you can have it. Deal?" he offered her his large hand.

"Deal." She said, shaking his hand with her own tiny one. "Thank you, Pop! you're the best!"

"Yeah, yeah. Keep it down already. I got a reputation to uphold don't I?"

Shermy watched him put the telescope on display in the window.

Maybe being an only child wasn't all bad.


	3. Age 16 (part 1): The Runaway

**Author's Notes:** Another long chapter bought to you by my shitty mental health, woo! This chapter is more where the T rating comes from, rated for swearing sex and alcohol mentions and adult situations. More STANGST by the bucketful. More terrible Pines communication skills. I swear I do actually love canon Stanford, he's my favourite character apart from the Mystery twins themselves. It's just he made some really fucked up decisions like even a demon was vagueing him about it. You know you've screwed up when an evil triangle is using you as an example of sibling morals.

As per the first chapter: in Shermy's POV she calls Stanley "Stanford", in Stanley's POV he is referred to by his birth name.  
The real Ford is through the portal by now. So assume "Stanford/Ford" = Grunkle Stan unless specified.

(Edit: Uploaded Cover Art of Shermy and Stanley drawn by tumblr user ghostfiish who is wonderful!)

 _(Shermy)_

A girl turned up at the Mystery shack with a busload of new money schmucks from New York.

"Please let me in, I don't have any money." she said, rubbing at the corner of her eye.

Her eyeshadow, a bright neon blue which had originally been on her lids now wiped in smudges onto her cheeks like clown paint. Her face was stained with black mascara streaks. Her sweater was black with pink hearts on, the sleeves were too long for her.

She was young. She was _terrified_.

She heaved her duffle bag over a shoulder, and rushed to the ticket stand, where a bored-looking teenager sat with his stereo blaring in the background.

"I need to talk to Ford Pines, I have to see him. Please, I have to!" she said pushing her hair behind her ears, and wiping at her face.

The boy at the ticket stand was maybe a year older than her at a pinch. He had dirty blonde hair and a bucket hat. He hit the volume knob on his boom box, muting it.

"Look kid, no one gets in without paying." He said, giving her a once over and deciding he was generally unimpressed.

"I do. It's important. What the hell is a mystery shack anyway? What happened to the lab? Where's Stanford? I have to see him!"

The boy sighed at her, he fixed her with a long look and rolled his eyes skyward.

"Wait there." He said finally. He headed into the strange triangular house, all the other tourists had disappeared into. She could hear him shouting from inside.

"Mr. Pines? There's a girl here to see you!" he yelled.

The sound of footsteps, her brother's voice, rougher and more Jersey than she remembered.

"A girl?" said Stanford, from inside somewhere. "What girl?"

The blonde kid came out of the house and glanced at her.

"She's cute." The kid said back over his shoulder "Maybe you should let her in. She might be a little young for you though."

Shermy groaned internally. _Great, what a warm fucking welcome_ , she thought.

She stopped when she noticed her brother, frozen dead in his tracks staring at her, the colour draining out of his face.

Dressed in a brown suit with his signature horned frames and a ridiculous fez on his head. He looked a lot older but he was still recognisable by his nose and general face shape.

She was surprised he even recognised her, it had been near on five years since they'd seen each other, and that had been pre-puberty for her.

To give him his credit he took her arrival in his stride and slapped the boy in the upside of his head with his 8 ball cane.

"Get your head out of the gutter, kid. Go! You're on tour duty." said Stanford without missing a beat.

"But Mr Pines!" whined Bucket Hat rubbing his ear.

"Something came up, Daryl. Call it a family emergency." He took off the fez and put it on the kid's head, then he chucked the cane in his direction.

"Go on, get. You're the Mystery Man now. Go collect that big city cash."

The teen headed back inside the house cussing under his breath. It looked ridiculous while sporting a maroon fez too big for his skull over the top of the khaki bucket hat he was wearing. Her brother smiled a lopsided little smile.

"Shermy? What the hell are you doin' here?" he said.

The girl stood there uncomfortable. She'd been watching the exchange with a growing expression of confusion.

What was this place? Was this where he lived?

"Hey Ford… not that I'm in any position to judge here but…did you start some kind of cult here? Is that why you haven't come home for the holidays? You're busy leading some kind of..." She gestured widely at him and the house behind him. "...Mystery cult?" she guessed.

Her brother laughed at that. A deep chest-shaking laugh.

He shook his head. "Well, nice try, but no. Turns out grant money alone doesn't pay off the mortgage."

She tried to smile but from Stanford's reaction it mustn't have been very convincing. His eyes moved from her makeup stained face to her duffle bag to the bus ticket in her hand. She could see the mental arithmetic pass through his eyes.

"Come inside, Sherm. Let me take your bag." He led her inside.

Shermy's hand brushed the _mezuzah_ case on the way in. _Safe_ , soothed the metal against her fingertips, _Safe, home._ She swallowed a sob, thinking of their family home back in Jersey. The apartment above the Pawn Shop she'd lived her entire life.

3 days travel by bus it had taken her to get to the doorway she was standing in and she didn't even know if she'd be welcome here.

Everything was confusing and she just wanted to sleep.

* * *

Her brother led her into his kitchen. It was small and messy but surprisingly nice for a bachelor pad, she never really thought of Stanford as somebody with any kind of aesthetic taste, he was all tweed and turtlenecks and _Latin_.

She sat down at the kitchen table, like she was just visiting her brother out of state. Everything was pally and fine, her life was a coffee commercial. Her worldview wasn't rapidly spinning further out of her reach, everything was fucking wonderful. Right?

Her neck hurt. She felt like Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders at only sixteen. Not for the first time in the last 72 hours she found herself mentally balancing up the pros and cons of existing, like a set of scales.

Ford opened the fridge, his back to her.

"Do you want a drink? We have…well we have soda and water and not much else." He said.

She nodded, feeling outside of herself like she was nodding a puppet's head.

"A soda's fine, Thanks."

Ford opened a pink can of something called 'Pitt Soda', and handed it to her. It was very sweet and tasted not unlike Mexican Cola.

Shermy tried to concentrate on whatever her brother was pattering on about.

"…I can put you in the other bedroom upstairs." He was saying. "It just needs a clean."

Shermy rubbed her face with her hands, trying to wipe off the last of her makeup.

"Aren't you gonna ask me what I'm doing here? You don't wanna know what's wrong?"

Stanford shook his head. "No. I know a runaway when I see one. It's none of my business, unless you want to talk about it."

His face was so deathly serious, she felt the lump she'd spent the last few days swallowing spring up again in her throat.

Shermy shook her head, and then burst into tears. So much for her 'give no fucks' persona.

"A thanks would have been fine", he joked, but she just cried harder into her folded arms on his kitchen table.

She heard Ford's chair legs screech against the floor, and then a hand came to rest on her back.

"Look I'm _here_ , Shermy. Mom and Dad don't have to know you're here straight away. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. You're my sister, and you have a home here no matter what's happened. There's no way I'd let my own blood go hungry and homeless while I still live."

She sniffed into her arms, her eyes and nose running.

"I screwed up, Ford. I screwed up real bad and I don't know where else I can go."

"You're safe here, squirt, regardless." He moved his chair over so he could sit beside her.

"You don't even know why I'm here, I-I could have murdered someone for all you know!" She said looking up from her arms.

"Did you?" he asked, face calm as a pond in winter. She had to mentally stop herself from punching him in his own kitchen.

It was hard to do so when he was being so damn punchable.

"No! Of course not." Shermy furrowed her brow. Is that what her brother thought of her? _A murderer?_

"Then I don't care. I'm not Mom or Pop. It's not my place. You made a mistake. Bubs, I've been nothing but mistakes since I was seventeen."

"Oh shut up, shut up. Cry me a fuckin' river. You're the perfect child. You're the wunderkind! You've never stepped a foot wrong in your life."

His lips twitched. "I cost me my twin brother. I don't know about you but I count that a big misstep."

"No, your twin brother cost himself you. Besides, Stanley died in a car accident, Ford. You can't control that."

"Doesn't feel like it." He said with a sigh Shermy sensed the subject needed changing. She'd learnt enough about that from dealing with her parents as a child.

"How have you been? It's just you around? No secret woodsman family you got hiding out here?"

"Hah! As If. No, I don't have anyone. I've been too busy with my work." Stanford picked at some dirt under his fingernails. Shermy sulked.

"Ooh, it must have been super important scientific work for you not to even call home in five fucking years." She spat.

Her arms wrapped tight around herself for comfort.

Ford let out a sigh. "Great, you've learned sarcasm and swearing in my absence. Please don't suddenly morph into Mom now."

"If I ever do, you have my own permission to take me out back with a shotgun like Old Man Yeller." Her lips twitched at the corners, she was trying rather hard not to smile. She didn't come here to play happy families.

"Morbid humour, I'm liking you even more now kid."

Her brother chuckled, getting up from his chair and fetching himself a glass and a bottle. '18 year old malt whiskey' said the label, faded in places. She could smell it from where she sat. _That shit's older than I am._

"Yeah, well we've all got our own coping strategies." She said briskly, not taking her eyes of the amber liquid he poured into his glass.

Stanford rolled his eyes yet again. "Thanks Ma." he drawled.

"What happened to Fiddlesticks?" she asked changing tack.

Her brother quirked one big bushy eyebrow at her. "Who?"

"Fiddleford. Y'know the McGucket guy? From Backupsmores? Weren't you working together?"

"Oh right, there was a… uh a _falling out_ of sorts." Said Stan not meeting her eyes, again.

He took a big sip of his whiskey. "Poor bastard, he's really gone off the deep end since he left. Real paranoid like."

"Yeah, well you'd know all about that wouldn't you?" Shermy snapped.

It was childish, but she was beyond caring what her brother thought of her by this point.

"Huh?" Either Ford's poker face had improved a ton or he had no clue what she was on about.

"Do you not remember? Those creepy messages you sent me when I was a kid, I had to go to the public library and look up what an Atbash was before I could find someone who could decipher it. That was some serious spy shit, Ford. Too serious to load on a kid."

Ford looked away. "I-I guess I forget about them"

"Well lucky fucking you, Stanford, those messages gave me nightmares for years. I thought you were in serious trouble, like you were being tortured or something!"

"Haha, come on, don't be so dramatic, Sherm." He said rubbing at his neck.

"Don't 'Haha Sherm' me. I was eight years old and I hadn't heard from you for years. What did you _expect_? I mean you could have sent a fucking birthday card:

Even just a letter: " _Hey Family, I'm not dead. Happy Hanukkah?_ ' Or something?"

"I should have, you're right..."he started, but Shermy wouldn't let him interrupt.

"I even got more word from Stanley than you and He's been dead five years."

Ford winced at that, it was a low blow but she didn't care.

"I was eight, Ford. Eight years old, I had braces and an overactive imagination. I thought the Feds had got you, some spy agency looking for your research. Those messages you sent me about eyes and trusting no one what the hell? Was that some kind of joke? I was terrified you'd fallen into some dark underworld criminal network or something, I even told Mom I said 'Ma I'm real worried about Stanford.' and she told me you were just busy. -She always says that, I think she believes it about as much as I do. She knows you're not too busy, and you're purposely trying to get away from us!"

Shermy was near screaming now, her throat was dry and she could taste metal.

"You must think you're _too good_ for us, with your doctorate and grants you're far too good to ever have been some poor scrappy Jewish kid from New Jersey!"

Her brother's face said she might as well just have kicked him. Ford just sat there not reacting. Not even a flicker of anger, just a sad scruffy puppy face.

Shermy wanted him to be angry, she want him to stand up for himself for this to be a proper match. She didn't want to be the villain here, the only one who was left wildly wasn't going to let him paint her as over-emotional or angry. No her brother knew what he had done he was just pretending he was above it all.

"Now don't be like that. I do care about you. I miss you and Ma and Pops every day. My work is just very important."

"What work could be more important than your _family_?" Her voice cracked again, exhaustion setting in. She didn't want to be tired, She wanted to scream and shout in the hopes she'd wake herself up from this hellish Freudian nightmare.

"Look, Sherm. I'm letting you keep your secrets, respect that I have mine."

"Don't you dare compare my life, to yours, Stanford. You haven't been in my life since I was five years old!"

Not caring how stereotypically dramatic it was. She stomped out of the kitchen and out of the shack slammed the front door open and let the wind slam it closed.

* * *

 _(Stanley)_

Stanley sat at the kitchen table rattled, like in the wake of a hurricane, outside he watched his baby sister, now a young woman, stomp off towards the forest.

He downed his whiskey, not even noticing the burn in his throat this time around.

Shermy had left her duffle bag on the kitchen floor. She would be coming back then, he thought with a sense of relief, she really has nowhere else left to go.

For now it would be best just to let her cool it off. She needed space.

He went upstairs to the attic, moving Ford's notes and various machine parts into cardboard boxes.

Packing them away into a corner. He could look through their contents later when the situation had been dealt with.

His sister's voice was screaming in his mind "What work could be more important than your family?"

 _What work, indeed, kid?_ Stanley was still struggling to piece that together and it had been five years since the accident.

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the stained glass window, short brown hair with the line of grey coming in at the temple, the horn-rimmed glasses. Stanford Pines. Good God, he even looked like him now. They were identical sure, but this was too much.

Out of long-forgotten boxer's instinct Stanley's hand became a fist before he even was aware of the rage bubbling up from somewhere well-buried. He punched the wall beside the window. Hard. The wood connected with his fist and gave a shudder. It hurt, but the pain didn't make him feel any better.

"You absolute _bastard_." He snarled to his reflection. "How, could you just take off for six years without a letter home or anything? He rubbed his sore hand on his thigh. "How ungrateful do you have to be to just forget about the family who loved and raised you?"

 _You did the same thing, Stanley. It's been near five years since the funeral._

He growled – a low rumble deep in his throat— at his own thoughts. That was different, if he spent too much time with them, they'd figure out he wasn't his twin. He couldn't always cover his tracks with six-fingered gloves and vaguely scientific sweeping statements. He would make a mistake eventually. That was Stanley did best, wasn't it? Make ridiculous mistakes.

Besides the sooner he got Ford back the better it'd be for the whole family.

He busied himself with setting up the spare mattress in the attic, into a makeshift bed for Sherm to sleep in. But it was actually pretty hard to make a bed when you were hysterically fuming.

How old was his sister now? Sixteen, seventeen? Not much younger than he was when he'd been kicked out some fifteen years ago. The poison he'd heard spilling out his little Shermy-Sherm's mouth, it was painful to hear her suffering, almost as painful as it was for him answer to his brother's name. Was there anything the twins had touched that they didn't ruin?

The kid who 'Stanley' had never met officially, not as himself. But he'd first met as a little girl at his own funeral, a little girl who for some reason adored Ford like he'd hung the fucking moon from the sky. How did Ford treat this kid? Apparently by completely ignoring her existence from what she had said. Poor thing, they both needed to work on getting some better role models.

What the hell had happened to drive her here so scared and angry like this? What had happened to the wise little girl from the funeral? Had Ford driven her to this? Had Stanley? Was this another scar he'd unknowingly carved into his family?

Fifteen years spent fighting for his life and no one else's on the street, fifteen fucking years, of petty crime and starving and living out of his car, he'd reached a pretty damn low point in his life when at twenty-four he'd realised that Colombian prison actually had nicer facilities than what he'd had on the outside.

Stan stuffed some pillows into clean cases and cleared a footlocker of dusty old tomes and more notebooks— Fiddleford's this time, absurd sketches of some kind of whale robot— making some space for his sister to put her things.

He may have been Stanford Pines in name now, but he was still Stanley in experience and morals, and there was nothing the kid could do, that would make him ever want to kick her out. He could not leave that terrified young woman when she was begging for help.

Homelessness was not a punishment, exile was not a punishment. He was not his father and he was not a fifteen-year-gone mistake. He was Stanford Pines and he could be a good brother. He fetched a camping lantern from the basement for her to use as a bedside light and he'd straightened the covers of the bed.

Almost an hour had passed, he was deliberating over when he should go after her, pacing back and forth in the gift shop, checking the stock. Trying to still his trembling hands.

The shop phone rang, he had answered it before Daryl's head even appeared in the doorway. No good kid. Stan would sack him if he could afford a replacement.

"Welcome to the Mystery Shack, this is Stan."

"Stan, this is Deputy Blubs down at the Gravity Falls PD."

Shit, what was their problem this time? Was it the raccoon thing, it probably was the raccoon thing. But where else was he supposed to keep them? There was a real lack of designated raccoon farming areas.

"One of our officers picked up a distressed young lady wandering the highway, and she claims to be staying with you, is this correct?" the deputy said. He could imagine the guy in his mind's eye: short, black and round, close cut hair and a moustache.

"Shermy? Yes she's staying with me, she's my sister. Is she alright, she's not hurt?" images of his sister, crushed or bleeding and broken sprung up unbidden from somewhere deep in his mind. He felt sick.

"No, Mr Pines she's alright, just a little shook up. She's down at the precinct if you could come and collect her."

"Of course, deputy." He hung up the phone. He'd never been so relieved to hear from the police in his life.

"Daryl you can go home early if you close up first," he shouted over his shoulder as he moved through the house grabbing his keys and another jacket because it looked like it might rain.

Daryl gave a grunt back in acknowledgment. Stan paused at the door, there was one last thing he needed. He turned back down the hall and grabbed the pair of black six-fingered gloves from a drawer in his office.

She hadn't noticed yet, but he didn't want to disappoint her. Even Stanley didn't want to be stuck with Stanley.

He was in the car within two minutes and pulling into the police station parking lot in ten.

"Sherm?" he asked, swinging open the door. She was sitting in the waiting room with a female officer and a half-drunk cup of cocoa.

"Hey." She said, eyes unfocused. Her voice was hoarse and she looked like she'd been saved from a shipwreck. Her jeans were wet and muddied, there was a twig sticking out of her sweater neck a scratch on her cheek.

"Are you okay?" asked her, the image of a quiet eleven year old in a black dress crying on the day of his own funeral burned into his skull.

Shermy shrugged. "The jury's still out on that one." She muttered into her polystyrene cup. "I'm unhurt if that's what ya meant."

Stan just nodded, not even sure what to say to that. He turned to the officer beside her. She had thick dark curly hair and a roman nose. He recognised her from around town. Linda or Lorna or something.

"Is everything okay here, do I need to sign anything?"

"No." said Linda or was it Lana? He couldn't remember. "She's not here under any charges, it's just we can't release a minor except in the custody of a guardian."

Stan nodded, clearing his throat.. "I'm her brother, will that do?

The woman smiled, looking genuinely touched by his anxious big sibling compassion.

"Of course, Stan. Ms Pines is free to go." She said with another small smile towards Shermy, who was picking bits of twig and pine needles from her sweater.

"Come on, Shermy. Let's go." she nodded, and thanked the policewoman, handing her the cup.

"I'm sorry." She said to Stanley in the parking lot, "I didn't want to call you all the way out here."

"Its fine, kid. Are ya hungry?" He asked.

She shrugged. "Sure I guess. I haven't eaten today."

"Want to grab a burger? I know a place to stop with a great view."

* * *

 _(Shermy)_

They sat eating their burgers, in Stan's car, parked in a Lovers Lane like spot, the ridge overlooking a huge green expanse of land, it was a good place, they could see over the miles of forest and it was early enough, Ford had said, that they wouldn't be bothered by hordes of horny teenagers.

Shermy put her fries down on the dash. She took a deep breath.

"Hey, Stanford. Can I tell you somethin'?"

 _Be brave, Sherm, he's your brother._ She wanted to listen herself, really she did.

"Sure." He said, voice cautious.

Her throat was closing up. "But you gotta promise not to get mad at me."

"I promise, I promise. How can I get mad at that face?" She could feel his eyes on her but she dared not look at them.

She was crying before she could even open her lips to speak. She let the tears roll down her cheeks, unwiped. She stopped to shove the last of her fries in her mouth.

She was so tired, so wanted desperately to just curl up somewhere and not deal with any of this.

"Again with the crying?" her brother said, sounding uncomfortable.

She remembered all those years ago, in the backseat of the family car and how awkward he had been when she started to cry on his jacket sleeve.

"Shut up, asshat. I'm trying to tell you something important here." she growled.

Ford held up his hands, the universal sibling gesture for peace.

"Stanford I- I'm I-…." Fuck everything why was this so hard?

He waited patiently as she sobbed. Finally she got the words out. They sounded dead and monotone as if she was keeping a distance between herself and the words.

"I'm pregnant." she said. She was staring straight ahead off into the valley.

It was a pretty afternoon in early fall. You could see for miles from here, layers of green and brown. Pines upon Pines.

She heard her brother clear his throat. She didn't turn to look him in the eyes.

"Oh- O-Okay" he said, after a few long seconds.

She snorted, a hiccuping mess for relief and fear.

"What do you mean _Okay_? It's not okay, I'm sixteen and I'm _terrified_. It's anything but okay."

"Of course it's not I just I mean I guessed that it would be something similar and sure, it's not a great time for you but it could be worse?"

"What could be worse than me… _expecting_?" she didn't want to say the p-word again now it had been said outright once. She was going to bury herself in euphemisms in the hope it would somehow make her less scared.

Her brother thought for a bit, taking a long drawn out slurp of his soda.

"You could also have a mullet." He said, with a smirk.

She laughed at that despite herself. "Oh yeah, I'm young, unmarried and under qualified to bring a new life into the world but at least I don't have a fucking _mullet_."

"That's the spirit! Look on the bright side!"

She elbowed him in the ribs, and stole a few of his fries. _Look on the fucking bright side, really Stanford?_ She sided-eyed her brother, he was gazing at her, he seemed unsure of what to say next. He didn't look angry though, she'd been expecting angry.

"You're, you're really not mad at me?" the panic that had been building up in her gut was audible in her voice. "Why aren't you mad at me?"

"You made me promise not to be." He said, it was a cop out of an answer.

Sherm snorted, even though everything felt so out of her control.

"Since when did _you_ care about keeping promises?" she muttered.

Ford let that slide. "Shermy I'm not Ma. You can tell me things and I'm not gonna start shrieking blue murder. Look I get it, this is a serious situation you're in. Even more reason for you to have someone there for you. This isn't something for you to do alone.

"What am I gonna do?" she asked, her hands came to rest briefly on her stomach, but she jerked them away as if she'd touched something scalding.

"That's not my choice to make, Shermaine." He said gently. His face almost fatherly, in concern. Except of course their father barely ever showed concern in his life.

"I don't want it to be _mine_. I'm sixteen, Ford! I made one stupid spur-of-the-moment mistake." Her voice drew shrill, as more tears threatened to spill over her lashes. Everything around her was peeking through a tear-lensed halo of lights and colours.

She put her head in her hands, ignoring the salt and grease from the fast food she'd been eating. Her brother watched her, still slurping on his soda. Thinking of what to say.

"Look, _bubbele_. I know you made a mistake. I'm not going be the one to hold that against you."

He sighed, looking away. "I should've learned my lesson from Stanley" he added.

Stanley, the name was always a shadow to her. An old family photograph, a wooden box in the earth. Still it had enough history to bring a wave of bile up burning at her throat.

"Mom and Pop aren't gonna disown me aren't they, Ford? They're not gonna just kick me out like Stanley. I can't even _drive_ yet!" Cold panic set in, her parents weren't bad people she knew that in her heart of hearts but she was the same age as Stanley had been, history wouldn't repeat itself, would it? Would it?

"Honestly? I dunno Sherm. But, when they call we'll sort something out, whatever happens, I'd never let you go homeless. I know it's not much, but you got a place here with me. If you ever need it."

"Thanks, Ford." She said. She didn't know what else to say, so she took a sip of her drink.

"Anytime, small fry." Said her brother after some thought.

"What are you going to say though, if they call your house?"

She was staring out at the view, you could see some of the tops of houses from here, and some weird kind of suspension bridge?

"What do you want me to say? I'm not that fond of lying to my parents."

Shermy smirked, straw still pressed against her lips. "That implies you have lied to them before, wunderkind."

Her brother sniggered at that. "Hey kid, I was sixteen once too, y'know?"

"Oh, I know. Believe me no one could let me forget what happened even If I wanted to."

"They still go on about it, huh?" Ford rubbed at his temples.

"Not explicitly. Mom and Dad fought for a bit after the funeral. But they calmed down eventually. Ma was just angry at everything that moved. Didn't help when Pop said he had hoped one day he'd go find him, the son he kicked out at 17 and find him somehow magically a changed man."

Ford laughed, but this the sound was empty of mirth and bitter. It made the hair on her neck stand on end. For a brief second he looked nothing at all like the brother she knew.

"How did he expect that? He didn't even let him pack more than one change of clothes?How does he think the streets are that some 17-year-old uneducated Jersey Boy is gonna magically stumble across a plan to cure world hunger or turn shit ta gold, whatever it was he wanted?"

"That's essentially what Ma said, she said he should've thought of that sooner, not after her baby boy was rotting in a box. I dunno why dad never tried, maybe he didn't want to admit he fucked up as a father." She sighed, thinking of her parents made her chest hurt right now.

"Yeah, Stanley was dumb as bricks, he was a dumb, pig-headed, destructive little shit, but he didn't even give him a chance Sherm, None of us did. We're as much responsible for his death as the car or the gorge he crashed into."

Shermy considered saying no he wasn't, but Ford seemed pretty set to hang himself as a villain, responsible for his brother's death.

She doubted anything she could say would change his mind. Instead she put her hand on his knee, and said nothing.

Her brother, instinctively, put his hand over hers. Six-fingers in a black glove. It felt familiar.

"Anyway, any other soul-destroying secrets you want to get off your chest while we're at it?" He asked, changing the subject with the subtlety of an avalanche.

Shermy guessed the years hadn't been kind to her brother that alone was obvious by his greying hairline and 5'o clock shadow.

She shrugged, wiping leftover tears on to the sleeve of her sweater. He turned his face to look her in the eye and let out a dry chuckle.

He knew he was being obvious and he didn't care. Some subjects were better left buried in a New Jersey cemetery.

Soul-destroying secrets, eh? She thought for a bit. Eh, fuck it. In for a penny, in for a pound.

"I'm pretty damn queer." She announced with the exhausted confidence of someone who really had nothing left to lose.

"I mean, boys are great, girls are great. I'm all about all of that."

"Okay?" Her brother looked, like he didn't exactly know how to react. But he wasn't angry nor did he look disgusted. Just kind of winded-looking. Perhaps he was regretting asking.

"Oh right, you remember a kid called Crampelter?" she asked.

"Ugh, yeah. Unfortunately." Ford scrunched up the bridge of his nose.

Shermy grinned, "I dated his sister for a bit"

"What really?" Stanford, didn't seem to know if he wanted to laugh or cry.

"Allison yeah." She sighed, dreamily, "She was so nice."

"So Shermy… I... Um. I'm assuming... Uh… well what I mean…was…uh... are you…. I mean obviously you have ….I mean…for you to be."

"What?" she chuckled "What are you stuttering on about?"

"Ah, forget it, kid it's not important."

"If you were stumbling all over how I got… this way, let me put your mind at ease. This isn't no divine intervention. I slept with a guy. At a party, it wasn't my brightest moment but hey, it happened."

" _Shermaine!_ I don't want to know about it." She never seen her brother all flustered before, that was new.

"It's just sex, you nerd. It's a fact of life. Don't need to act like it's the fucking plague. Its 1986, Ford. I'm a modern woman."

"You're my baby sister. The last time we spent together, you were barely outta diapers."

"I was eleven! I mean, yeah, it's been a while since we've met. But whose fucking fault was that? I've grown up in the last 5 year or so. I'm sixteen, Stanford! My life isn't all beaches and shooting stars now. I'm on the school newspaper, I do debating. I have my own group of friends, theatre kids like me. There's a whole queer arty scene in Glass Shard now. It's not just 50's themed diners these days."

"It's just weird to me, it's changed that much huh?"

"I guess. Things change, Ford."

"I know they do." he said quietly.

She remembered something. An anecdote.

"Oh yeah. Also I forgot to say, last year I almost got suspended because I punched a boy out cold when he wouldn't leave me alone after I asked him to stop. They only didn't call in Mom and Pop because one of the other girls stood up for me and I burned the letter they sent home."

Ford looked like she'd just told him she'd jumped over the moon.

" _Holy Shit_. Good job, Sherm." he said, beaming.

She laughed. "Thanks, I knew you'd like that one. I think Pop would have too, to be honest, if he wasn't so busy pretending to be disappointed."

"Ma would flay him alive, for encouraging her baby girl into a life of violence."

"I'm sure she would. She did when he taught me how to box, I got one hell of a right hook." She snapped her hand into a fist, popping her knuckles loudly.

"Yeesh, remind me not to get on the wrong side of that." Said Stanford, wincing.

"Nah, Ford. You're all right. A little assholey around the edges but aren't we all?"

"I'm gonna take that as a compliment."

"Good. Are you gonna finish those?" she pointed at his unfinished fries in his lap.

Her brother groaned and passed her the pager bag.

"Hmph. But it's only 'cause you're eating for two."

"You're the best, bro." Shermy said, as she stuffed the fries he offered into her mouth.

Ford put the key in the ignition. His rusty old car rattled into action

"Let's go home, then. To the shack, if that's alright with you."

Shermy buckled her seat belt and put her feet up on the dash.

That could have gone a lot worse, she thought to herself.

"Home sounds good, Stanford." She said softly.


	4. Interlude 1: Ruminations (Stanford)

**Author's Notes:** This is the first of the Interlude chapters focusing on members of the Pines family other than Shermy. This chapter is set immediately after ATOTS. It's looking into Ford's mental state and why he might be so angry at his twin apart from the Science Fair incident. In this canon Stanford is neuroatypical/psychotic (as someone with paranoia and psychotic symptoms I love him and identify with him a lot).

Trigger warnings for: discussion of mental illness, psychosis and hallucinations

 **Rumination (Stanford Pines)**

Stanford Pines lay awake in his own house. In his own bed. In his own dimension. Even one out of the three should have been a victory. To get all three was statistically improbable. Thirty-three years of drifting homeless through the multi-verse. Thirty three years of unbelievable sights and cities. Thirty-three years spent mostly alone. He didn't know if he could sleep after the events of the evening. His arms and legs were restless, twitching constantly trying to keep up with his racing mind.

His stream of consciousness was more like a tidal wave, a burst dam wild and unwieldy. Ford was caught up in it all, the whispering, the paranoia, the events of the day, the new facts to memorise new names and dates. Stanley's face, the sensation of his brother's cheek against his fist.

His twin brother, as old and grey as his own reflection. A painfully ironic effigy of their father. Their _late_ father, that was. Filbrick Pines was dead now. Opal Pines even longer gone than her husband. He didn't know what he felt about that. Any time he felt himself get close to some kind of emotion it dissipated. It sublimed up into the atmosphere and Ford was left feeling the hollow absence of pain.

Then there were the children, his great niece and nephew. The 'great' part was ridiculous enough. His last memory of Shermaine was as an over-eager five year old with a love for stories and the stars.

Now here were her two twelve year old grandkids, a cheerful girl with her eyes and zest for life and an intelligent boy born with the Stars on his head. Ursa Major, he remembered telling Shermaine about that constellation, one winter when he'd gone home for Hannukah and he'd brought with him a telescope so they could see the stars together. He tried to sense what he felt about that too, but there was nothing just gauze and iodine in the place where once were feelings.

Ford closed his eyes. The whispering was soft and neutral. Sometimes he caught snatches of it he thought he understood. Voices old and reverent like memories of long-since whispered Hebrew. It didn't scare him, nor did the things he saw in the shadows, the patterns casting through the gaps in his blinds which morphed and bled and sometimes became people. Hallucinations could keep him company. A quiet familiarity to the shapes and the sounds, like half-remembered dreams. Ford welcome them now, recognising them for what they were. _Harmless_. The multiverse didn't allow for any kind of regularly scheduled medication, he had to make do with what he had access to. Besides, he thought, Paranoia as a survival skill definitely had its place. The hallucinations that didn't use Bill as fuel were harmless as far as he was concerned, Ford had enough nightmare fuel to last him several lifetimes.

He was tired, no scratch that he was fucking exhausted. Thirty-three years? He was twenty-nine years old when he went in to the portal that would make him sixty-two when he came out. If it was summer April Fool's day had come and past. Give or take several months. He was sixty-two.

He'd told his brother to give him his life back, but what life did Stanley have to give him?

Another thirty three years, perhaps. _If he was lucky_ , with the large amount of radiation his work exposed him to, paired with a genetic predisposition to certain cancers, well it made him doubtful either Ford or his twin would live to see ninety.

 _Focus, Sixer. You'll feel better once you have some facts._ The voice in his head was a startling hybrid of his brother, Fiddleford and Bill. He forsook sleep for now, pushing back the covers and turning on the bedside lamp. Stanley had bought him his journals in a pile before heading to bed himself and he left them on his nightstand.

"Thought ya might be needing some light readin', Poindexter." he'd said, looking him in the eyes for a split second and then thinking better of it. "'s your house as you said, you've got the full run of it while the kids are asleep just don't do anything ta wake them. They've been through enough as is."

His face had been close enough for Ford to smell the whiskey on his breath, his jaw was squared and there was something in his face that was so painfully familiar his brain kept replaying the image over and over in his head, ringing early warning klaxons. _Important memory! Remember that face! Important!_ But he was coming up with nothing.

Sitting up in bed he looked over at the books. His brother had piled them up out of numerical order, just to piss him off. Ford sighed. Some things were ever-constant.

"That's real petty, Stanley." He muttered to the air, stacking them up 1, 2, 3 again.

Hidden in between 3 and 1 another thin black notebook slipped out, hidden in the pile by the size of the journals.

It slipped out of his grasp and fell to the floor.

That wasn't one of his.

He picked it up, it was a sleek faux-leather notebook with the word 'memorandum' inscribed in gold.

Inside it was a list of dates and names, several pages of notes and diagrams written in an elegant flowing cursive that was not his own, nor Stanley's.

At the bottom were the words:

 _No more excuses, Stanford- Sherm xoxo_

He frowned to himself. What excuses? His sister hadn't heard from him in over thirty years.

Then it hit him, she thought Stanley was him. Had he been making excuses in his twin's name?

He turned to the first page.

' _Pines Family c1925-2015'_ his sister had written one the first page.

Stanford closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

 _Here goes._

* * *

He'd managed to get some answers from his brother earlier that night, when the kids had gone to bed, and they'd been left there having their slightly heated discussion about Stanley's place in the house once the summer was over. They'd moved to opposite sides of the living room. Ford took a seat in one of the armchairs.

 _Don't trust him, said a whisper, Is he even your family?_

"So Dipper and Mabel are Sherm's kids?" Ford asked trying to ignore the voice's advice.

"Grandkids." said his brother.

Ford frowned, the math wasn't working in his head, either way he worked it either his sister or nephew became a parent while still practically a child.

"Are you certain Stanley? That just doesn't add up."

"I'm pretty damn sure, Sixer. Seeing as I lived it and all." His brother snapped. "I remember when Isaac, the twins' Dad, was born. I flew home to stay with them and visit Sherm in the hospital."

"So Isaac is my nephew right? Dipper and Mabel are my great nephew and niece?"

Stanley was staring at the floor now. "Yeah."

A thought had struck him dumb then. Here was he cataloging the new names when he hadn't spared a thought for the ones he already knew. What year was it again?

2015 they had said.

His brother unlocked one of the wooden cabinets in the corner, and poured himself a whiskey in one of the crystal glasses Ford's undergraduate supervisor had given him as a graduation present.

"Do ya drink? I don't remember?" Stan asked. He was hardly looking at him, as if the whiskey cradled in one hand was far more important than anything else in the room.

Ford set his jaw, biting down hard, teeth grinding teeth. He held his tongue and his fists. He would get no answers by throwing more punches. It was just Stanley, he could tolerate one exchange.

 _You shouldn't have to tolerate him_ , said a new whisperer, a voice bitter and male.

' _Hey, you leave 'em alone, boy._ ' Whispered a woman's voice, with a thick Polish accent like his grandmother. _'They're family.'_

Ford realised his brother was staring, he shook his head to dispel the conversation. What had Stanley asked him? His eyes tracked to the bottle. Oh, Right.

"Ah, no. thank you.' He managed to get out.

Stan put the bottle back. He busied himself with things on shelves, flipping through stray magazines and picking up after the kids. He was acting all apathetic and debonair like he usually did when he was in a sulk, Ford noticed wryly. His brother's tells hadn't changed since they were ten.

Ford cleared his throat, his voice grew husky but he managed to get and hold his brother's eye contact without feeling sick long enough to ask him the question. He tap-tapped his nails in a six-fingered wave on the counter top.

"Ley, it's a stretch but, Mom and Pop?"

Stanley frowned, he slowly shook his head.

"I'm real sorry, Ford." He said, and he meant it.

Ford's brain recorded it for later when he wanted to imagine his brother apologising for all the shit he'd done. He knew well enough he wasn't going to get a real one any time soon.

His twin dithered around a bit. "Ah, let's see. Mom died in 97', Cancer. Liver I think." He paused to take a sip of whiskey.

Stanford dug his nails so hard into his palms they beaded out tiny red specks of blood. His stupid brother and his fucking comedic timing. He probably wasn't even aware of it anymore, it just happened.

"Dad held on to a good old age, 88 if I remember correctly. Lost him a year or two ago. Sherm was there. I tried to get on a plane to be there in time…but I-I missed him." His voiced faltered.

 _Oh._ Ford didn't feel anything when Stan had told him. He'd just nodded, looking away. Let his brother think he didn't care for this family, maybe he didn't. It was so hard to tell anymore.

Both his parents were dead. He repeated the fact over and over in his head as he sat there in his room in the silence. Their names and dates, birth, marriage, death, stared out of the lined pages in his sister's neat cursive, much easier to read than his own notes. He felt nothing. He knew there should be emotions there but he felt hollowed out: a vessel with no contents. Where was his Anger, his Bargaining, and his Depression? He was the emotional equivalent of a vacuum, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

 _Filbrick W Pines (15 April 1925-1st September 2013)_

 _Opal A Ersatz (5th October 1929- 30th May 1997 )_

 _Married Jersey City, NJ. June 18th 1951._

Then his own name popping out of the pages at him, paired with his brother. Shermy had even included his qualifications.

 _Stanley Franklin Pines (1st April 1953- 26th July 1982)_

 _(Dr) Stanford Filbrick Pines (BSc, Honours, Phd in Astrophysics) (1st April 1953-)_

Growing up with a shared birthday on April Fool's day had been, interesting to say the least. Usually they were too busy celebrating to have time for large scale chaos but Stanley, the mastermind, always found a way to get something under the adult's radars. A bucket on a doorway or a flour bomb in a mailbox usually quenched his brother's thirst for mischief, though when they grew older they had pulled off some more spectacular birthday pranks by combining Ford's science and Stan's salesmanship. His personal favourite being the incident with the phenolphthalein and the school swimming pool.

A date on the page in front of him, stopped dead his train of thought.

 _Stanley Franklin Pines (1st April 1953-_ _ **26th July 1982**_ _)_

Ford read that again, again, and again. Almost a month after the date of the accident labelled as his brother's date of death.

His twin brother who right this second now slept in the room above him. His date of death. Shermy thought Stanley was thirty years underground. From what Ford could piece together from their brief conversation earlier Stanley had attended his own funeral. As if he were Stanford Pines.

He scrolled down the page Shermy had written her own details.

 _Shermaine Bathsheba Pines b. 18th August 1970_

Her birthday and birthplace. The same as the twins: _Glass Shard Beach, NJ._

David S Chapman, married 21st September 1990 in Shaar Zahav Synagogue, San Francisco, CA.

His baby sister was married. His baby sister had had a son ( _Isaac Stan Pines_ ) at sixteen to an unnamed father and later married and had twin girls _(Miriam Andromeda and Samantha Hypatia_ -Ford could at least appreciate his sister's love for astronomy had not changed). He wasn't just a Grunkle but a regular Uncle, and here were three generations of Pines twins.

At the top of the next page his sister had included young Isaac Pines' marriage in 2003 to one "Laura A Hirsch" and the rather quick arrival of the twins afterwards. A splatter of black ink had been spilled on the next entry. Likely from his brother's clumsiness, it made Shermy's original entry nigh indecipherable and Ford seen had his fair share of indecipherable text. As if to remedy this underneath the ink stain Stanley had rewritten:

 _Mabel Laura Pines & "Dipper" Isaac Pines (b. 31st August 2003, Mabel- 5 minutes)_

No first name for Dipper, Ford noted. Either Stan had forgotten it (the most likely hypothesis) or for whatever reason didn't like calling the kid by it. Either way it didn't matter to Ford. Dipper suited his nickname. It reminded Ford of Shermy. After the kids' entry there was no more notes that he could he could see, he checked the front and back covers for any secret notes and tried under black light.

Nothing.

 _Not everyone needs to be as paranoid as you, Sixer._ Said that familiar voice again.

He gave the notebook a shake.

A white paper envelope slipped out.

Inside were a couple of photos amongst various newspaper clippings and kids' drawings. More family keepsakes he guessed. He glanced at them briefly, but his eyelids were starting to droop. Maybe further investigation was better left until later.

Yet one of the pictures caught his eye.

The first photo on top was a slightly blurred picture of his brother in a dark suit and yarmulke, grinning like a complete idiot in the most Stanley expression he'd ever seen.

Scooped up in his arms was a young woman in a lace wedding gown who could easily have been mistaken for an older Mabel at a glance. Ford found himself staring at her memorising every detail of her face his memory creating a composite of the details, her bone structure was thin and more jutting than Stanford and his brother, the side profile he could see in photo, as she tossed her head back in laughter, belonged to his mother's line. The Ersatz cheekbones tended to travel down the women in the family, whereas Ford and his brother took more after their father, with the nose.

Her eyes were still the same amber he remembered, her hair was elaborately pinned up on top of her head, decorated with her veil and flowers but it seemed to be the same dark brown as his own. She was so utterly delighted, her mouth wide open perhaps in laughter perhaps a small shriek of surprise, her legs akimbo in the air as Stanley gathered her up fireman-style in his arms. She was so delighted, so beautiful, so eerily familiar, but she wasn't his sister. His sister was a fluffy-haired five year old who wore pinafores and asked too many questions.

This woman, this bride, this mother, she was a stranger to him. Shermaine Pines was his baby sister, Shermaine Pines was a pre-schooler. He turned the photo over, in his mother's handwriting were the words " _Shermaine & Stanford_" scrawled in fading pen with the date.

His chest hurt, his emotions still blunted and flat but now there was something there. A small seed of a feeling dull and aching had taken root in his chest. Gone was most of his initial anger at the situation, but more threatened to flood up from untapped reservoirs.

Shermy Chapman-Pines, Ph.D. mother, grandmother, award winning journalist -was a stranger to him, yes. But he was not a stranger to her. No, this photo alone was proof of that. Stanford Pines had been at his sister's wedding. Stanford Pines had been there for the birth of her children. Stanford Pines had been with his sister to mourn the death of both of their parents. Stanford Pines had always been there for her, his baby sister who loved the stars so fondly she named two children after astronomers and one for her favourite galaxy.

It just wasn't _him_.

When Isaac was born, did Stanley know the story behind the name? Did Stanley remember that early New Jersey morning, on the pier? Did he remember sketching a little girl with an apple? Or how this little girl shone so brightly she could just reach right in and pull him out of the darkness in his head?

If Stanley gave him his life back would he ever get back those thirty years?

He closed the book, leaving it on his nightstand with the journals. He switch off his lamp and rolled back under his sheets, too hot to pull up the rest of his covers. He was home now, he told himself. He was home.

A new voice, liberated from his own memory whispered to him as his closed his eyes.

 _"Nuh-night Ford_." Said little Shermaine, and even though he knew it wasn't her, the reply still left his mouth almost instantly.

"Goodnight, squirt."


	5. Age 23: The Daily Grind

**Author's Notes:** Wow, what a surprise another depressing chapter. I swear i'm not projecting here!  
Basically I wanted to look at what happens when you forgo your own mental health from the age of five, for the sake of holding your whole family together. More OCs making an appearance in this chapter who were mentioned in the last one. The Chapman-Pines Family: David, Isaac, Miriam and Samantha. Miriam also makes an appearance as an obnoxious young adult in "Born to Bee Wild." I still love the Pines parents as characters they're both very flawed and interesting characters to write and I feel like they affected their kids more than they let on.  
(Stanford = Stanley/ Grunkle Stan again)

 **trigger warnings in this chapter for:** suicide mention, negative self-talk, suicidal ideation and discussion of mental health issues especially depression.

* * *

 _San Francisco, California. 1994._

She was twenty three years old, she had three kids under the age of ten, she was working sixty hours a week in a job she loved and she was married to the light of her life who was and always would be her favourite person in the world.

 _She wanted to die._

It was a quiet little thought, it had surfaced while she was doing the laundry, popped out when she made Isaac's bed.

 _Hi,_ it said, _I don't want exist anymore. You might wanna do something about that._

Sherm had gathered it up with the old sheets and bedclothes and buried it at bottom of the laundry basket where she didn't have to look at it.

It came back later that night. The kids were asleep, she was lying in bed her head against David's bare chest, the two of them wrapped up together in a chrysalis of covers.

They were watching reruns of Seinfeld and she felt the laugh track seep out of the TV and David laughed in time with it.

Is that even real laughter? Did she ever laugh like that these days? She didn't remember.

 _Hey_ , said the thought, _it's me again I still want to die. I'm not going to go away._

 _Oh_ , she thought, burying her face into her husband's chest. _Oh shit._

"Something wrong, pine nut? David asked, one arm resting on his forehead and the other on her back just above the waistband of her pajama shorts.

He moved that hand up and rubbed at the small of her back. The slow seeping misery faded for a few seconds.

"Yeah, I'm just stressing." She murmured into warm brown skin, "Don't worry 'bout it." On the TV Jerry had just told a girl George was a marine biologist, and now he was trying to come up with a story about a whale.

She liked the show well enough usually but couldn't find the energy tonight to focus on it or care.

"About the report for the Chronicle?" Shermy nodded. It wasn't a lie, she wasn't done with that article and the deadline was approaching, but she was more concerned with her own voice in her head stating as plain as day that she didn't want to exist.

David brushed her hair behind her ear and smiled. She relaxed a little.

"There's not much you can do about it now, Sherm. You either get in on time or not."

"Yeah, I know but my brain just won't turn off." She said, frustrated.

 _I just want to turn everything off,_ she thought, _just for a bit_.

He brushed a thumb over her cheek. "Try get some rest, at least."

David went back to watching TV. Shermy rolled into the crook of his arm while absent-mindedly drew shaped like constellations on her back with his fingernails until her breathing relaxed.

She tried to think of nothing but that just filled her mind with thoughts, so instead she let them come fragments of memories, snippets of conversation and George Constanza telling a story about a whale.

* * *

Wednesday rolled around, the first of April and all the emotional hell that brought with it.

Her day already was off to a rocky start. She'd been awoken at 4am by one twin screaming and Shermy knew she only had a window of seconds before the other sister woke up and joined in enough to wake the neighbourhood.

Sherm rolled out from David's arm flung wide across her in his sleep.

He snuffled and rolled back on to his side of the bed unaware of his screaming progeny.

He slept like the dead and she hated it, if it had been Isaac waking she'd have sent David, but the twins were much too time sensitive to bother rousing him.

She shuffled down the hallway banging into the doorframe at least once before she opened her eyes fully.

Samantha was sitting upright in her crib screaming out all the air her tiny lungs could take.

"Ssshh, Sammy." She said lifting the toddler on to hip," What's wrong?" in her own crib Miriam started to stir.

 _Shit, not now. Please not both of them right now._

"Shh, what's wrong honey? She asked again soothing her daughter with a squeeze and a sigh.

"Bunny." She managed to make out. "Fall down."

Samantha had taken so long to say her first word they'd been worried, at 15 months they'd taken her to the doctor.

"Twins just take longer" he'd said, which rubbed Shermy the wrong way.

She'd checked with her mother who reported that was not the case at all for her brothers, and while the twins were saying the usually baby babble at the expected ages Stanley had learnt the word "No" at 10 months old and quickly taught it to his twin, and it had taken a few stressful months for either brother to learn any other words.

Sam eventually came out with her first word at 18 months, and quickly expanded her vocabulary to catch up with her twin. She was a resourceful little bean.

Shermy looked around in her daughter's crib, the Peter Rabbit stuffed toy she slept with was nowhere to be found.

"Where did bunny go, Sam?" she asked.

"All gone." Samantha replied, that was her favourite phrase at the moment, lots of things could be "all gone" according to Samantha: her breakfast, her pants, and her sister's ice cream for example.

However Shermy's '4am panic mode brain' cared nothing for child acquisitional linguistics and everything for where the fuck Peter Rabbit was hiding in her daughters' tiny bedroom.

"Mmh?" murmured Miriam, bleary eyes. Not yet awake but rousing.

"Go back to sleep, baby. It's nothing."

"Merm." Said Samantha. Her first and most favourite word, now frequently-used and infamous within the family it had quickly become her sister's nickname.

"Merm-Merm." She repeated to herself, head against Shermy's chest, eyelids drooping.

Shermy sighed. "Merm's sleeping, bubbele, and you should be too." she soothed.

"Bunny. Fall down." Samantha Chapman-Pines did not let up on the pressing issues. Her mother silently cursed her own genetics.

"Yeah, let's find your bunny first. That's obviously a matter of great international importance, I'm sure."

Sherm was so fucking tired she didn't know what she was saying anymore.

She lowered Sam back into her crib and searched around on her hands and knees for Peter Rabbit.

She found him hidden under the fabric skirting.

"Here he is, he was hiding. Naughty, bunny."

"Naughty." Repeated Samantha

"Well you've got him now, Sam. it's time to go back to sleep."

"Merm Sleeping?"

"Yes, she's asleep. Shush now. You don't want to wake her."

"Yeah. Sleeping." Samantha lay back down, Peter rabbit clutched to her chest like a lifeline. Thumb securely in mouth

Shermy "Nuh-night, Sam."

"Mm." the girl's eyes were already closed. Her breathing evening out into an even rate. How did kids get to sleep so quickly? Whatever it was Sherm wanted to bottle it.

She pulled Sam's blanket back over her, and moved over to check on Miriam who thankfully was more disposed to sleeping through the night unlike her sister.

She leaned in and pressed her lips to the dark feathery hair on her daughter's head.

"Night, Merm." She whispered, and went back to bed exhausted.

* * *

She must have looked a state when she got to the office because Gina took one look at her and stopped what she was doing to fetch her a coffee from the break room.

"Here you go Sherm, black, two sugars." She pushed the cup into her hand and sat her down at her desk.

"You're a star, Gina. I look that bad, huh?" She hadn't had time to do her makeup this morning, David had a breakfast meeting with a publisher, so she'd been in a rush to get Isaac off to school and the twins off to daycare by herself.

"You'll be fine, hon. you're not on the clock till quarter to." Replied Gina, she was pulling out a large sheet of bubble wrap from a cupboard and passing it two of the other girls, Faye and Aisha, who were currently in the process of wrapping up the editor's desk and all its contents in bubble wrap.

"What are you two doing?" Shermy asked.

"It's April fool's" said Aisha by way of explanation, flashing white teeth against dark skin.

Shermy glanced at the calendar.

 _April Fool's Day. April 1st 1994._

Her brothers' birthday. Ford turned 41 today.

It was a odd thought. She entertained the idea of calling him, as she made her way to the ladies' room, but quickly chickened out.

They hadn't spoken since her wedding. She'd received a really sweet letter on the announcement of the twins birth, but that was over two years ago now.

Besides, she rationalised, he didn't really celebrate his birthday anyway, not anymore.

 _Stanley would have been 41 today too_. She paused, starting at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, eyeliner pencil halfway to her lid, blinking back tears she didn't expect to come.

She looked so much like her mother right then it was uncanny even down to the eyebags and the lilac shadow.

She wiped the tears away. _Drink some coffee, do your hair. You're just tired._ She told herself.

Yeah, and I want to die but it's whatever , said that thought again. Okay she thought, still ignoring you. I have work to do today.

She did her makeup, hiding her eye bags and dark circles with foundation and a white eyeliner she managed to make it look like she wasn't fundamentally tired on a molecular level.

She tamed her dark hair with a little hairspray and a hair band until she could pass herself off as a respectable business woman who didn't want to hypothetically jump under a bus.

She wasn't entirely sure how she got from putting on her makeup and facing the world to calling her husband to come get her because she was crying her mascara off in a synagogue but she got there in a matter of hours.

"What happened, pine nut?" David had turned up in his blue striped suit his golden brown eyebrows turned downwards in concern.

He held on to both her shoulders and it felt like he was tethering her to the earth.

David was Gravity and she was a satellite. He pulled her near into his orbit, and she hung there close to him but not touching.

They stood on the street outside the Temple, it was an overcast April afternoon in San Francisco the air was still cool, and the insinuation of rain hung overhead.

Shermy leaned closer until her forehead touched David's.

"I don't know. Something's wrong with me and I don't know what." She said.

He pressed his lips to her forehead, the same way she kissed the twins goodnight.

"Is it the date?" her husband was well versed in the complicated genetic pantomime that was the Pines Family.

He understood the weight her brothers' relationship had on her growing up and knew that birthdays and Jahrzeits were still hard.

"I don't know, she said with a wretched sob. "I just want to sleep forever and not think about it at all."

David released her shoulders "Come on love, let's find somewhere to sit."

They walked down Dolores St to the park there where they found a grassy spot on the hill that was relatively shelter.

A handful of dog-walkers roamed the paths and were several people still eating lunch speckled under the palm trees but in their spot they were more or less alone.

"Please tell me what's wrong, Shermaine." She almost flinched, David hardly ever used her full name.

"I honestly don't know, I'm miserable for no reason. I don't know what's causing it's not just today either, it's been weeks now."

"You have been a little off colour lately, I thought it was just stress from finally getting a serious writing piece." He stared at their entangled fingers, brushing the opal ring she wore on her right hand turning it so the gem faced outwards again. It had been a 21st present and a wedding present in one from her parents, an heirloom of her mother's, the stone that bore her name.

"So did I. Until the other day when I started seeing bridges as things to jump off." She muttered bitter all of a sudden.

She didn't ask for this, she had a house and a job and a beautiful family. She should have been happy with her lot.

 _She wanted to die._

"Shit, Shermy. Honey, shouldn't you see someone about that?"

"I'm not gonna go see a fuckin, shrink just because I'm a little gloomy. Honestly, David."

"I think you should, I'm just saying, I don't want you to end up like Shayna."

Shermy's gut turned to ice. David's older sister had walked into the Napa River four years ago and never come out.

She didn't know what to say to that. Instead, she burst into tears pressing her face into his chest, her tears darkening his lapels.

He squeezed her hands in his. They were warm and safe. "I don't say that to scare you, pine nut. I want you to take yourself seriously is all?"

"I'm sorry." She said, muffled by fabric and skin. She didn't know which bit she was sorry for.

"Don't need to apologise for how you feel. You knew today was never gonna be easy, not for Stanford, nor for you."

"I was gonna call him this morning. Ford, I mean, but I couldn't do it." She said, pulling away from him and wiping her face.

She looking into her husband's green, green eyes and all she saw was love and sympathy.

He quirked his lips in a lopsided smile.

"Don't you know how that song goes, love? 'You dunno what you go til it's gone.' It's true, you know. You've got to close that gap somehow."

"I'm always the one to do it, David. I decided a while back I don't have the time to be playin' chase around with my older brother. He's a smart guy, either he makes the effort to be part of this family or not, I'm tired of the onus being on me." Shermy sighed.

Her throat was raw and she felt like someone had filled her bones with lead.

David smiled weakly. "I understand, honey, I do." He said.

"I'm gonna call Mom and Pop with I get home. Today is rough on them too." She straightened up her back, starting to pull herself back together.

 _Get it together, Pines._ She told herself. _Go in there and get back in the ring._

"If you want I can call your work, tell 'em you've gone home sick." David offered, brushing the hair that had escaped the confines of her hair.

She shook her head, "I'll be fine." she didn't want to go back to work, but she had to.

What she really wanted was to see the kids, she wanted to hear what Isaac at learned at school that day what games he'd played with his friends.

Right now she felt like she could watch the twins babble away to each other in their secret twin language for hours.

She wanted to be surrounded by those she loved and who loved her in return, she didn't need to waste any more energy on those who didn't.

She looked across the park most of the lunch-eaters had left by now, "What time do you need to get back to the office?" she asked her husband.

David glanced at his wristwatch and winced.

"Like five minutes ago." He said with a laugh. "C'mon, pine nut. I'll walk you to the corner at least."

* * *

She got home from work about 4.30 after picking up the twins from day care, and Isaac from baseball practice.

It was 5pm by the time the twins had been fed and she'd put Isaac's muddy gear in the wash.

She hadn't even got as far as thinking about dinner, she noted and she searched in the phone book to see what time it was in New Jersey.

About Lunchtime. She might be able to get a hold of them.

She dialled the number, the same digits burned into her skull since elementary school.

"Pines the Psychic, I'll see the unknown while you wait on the phone. What can I do for ya?"

Her mother had many talents and having a voice like a blocked drain was one of them. It had only got worse with age, Shermy blamed the gin.

"Hey Ma? Have I caught you at work?" She asked.

Opal Pines' voice shifted up about three octaves, perking up audibly.

"Shermy! No, bubsy, I always got time for you! How's things, darl? How are David and the lil munchkins? "her mother asked.

"They're good, well Sam's a little ratbag she kept me up last night. I'm exhausted." And as if own cure she stifled a yawn.

"That's parenthood for ya. I remember that well honey, especially with you, you've always been a cryer."

"Gee, thanks Ma." She mother laughed at that.

"Have you called your brother yet? It's the first today, you know?" Shermy tried not to groan audibly, she'd known this was coming.

"Yeah I know. I'm gonna call him after." That was a blatant lie and she was sure her mother knew it. "I just wanted to check up on how you and Pops are holdin' up."

There was a sigh on the line, she could hear a quiet tapping noise. Her mother's long false nails on the table, no doubt.

A nervous habit both Shermy and Ford had inherited in adulthood.

"I dunno about your old man, Sherm. It's a hard day for all of us but he's hardly breathed a word all day. You know how he gets himself all into a tizzy about Stanley." Opal said finally.

"Yeah, mom. I know." It went unspoken but everyone knew Filbrick Pines blamed himself for his son's death, and even though she'd never admit it out loud to anyone, Shermy blamed him too.

"FIL! COME UP HERE 'N TALK TO YA DAUGHTER" her mother's screeching nearly deafened her.

"Its okay, Ma. He doesn't have to if he's busy in the shop" she said.

Opal Pines chuckled. "Course he does honey, you're the only kid we got still speaking to us."

"Ford hasn't rung?" She didn't know what she'd expected but maybe a part of her had hope her brother treated their parents better than he had her.

"Not for a couple of months now, no. I'm sure he's real busy but doesn't mean he shouldn't keep in touch with his folks, right?"

Sherm thought of Stanford. Of his strange mystery house in the middle of Fuck-Knows-Where, Oregon.

The sleepy little logging town she'd stayed in for a couple of weeks when she first found out she was pregnant with Isaac.

Ford had been so kind to her then. The thought made her heart hurt.

"Hold on, bubsy." Her mother was saying into the phone, "Your Pop's here and he wants a word."

"Shermaine."

Filbrick Pines sounded the same as ever.

Invariable, impassive and hard, like he'd been carved from stone.

"Hey, Dad. How's it going?"

Her father grunted down the lune. "It's going, kiddo. The slow cruel hand of time keeps moving."

"How's business?"

"It's tricklin'. Slow but it's steady. They said they were gonna build one of those big schlocky megastores nearby about six months back but luckily nothin' came of it. How's California? You still goin to Temple, right?"

Shermy rolled her eyes, glad her father couldn't see her. "Yeah, Dad, Every week." She said.

Filbrick cleared his throat. "That's good, you're a good kid, Shermy. You're alright."

Shermy chuckled awkwardly. "Thanks, Pop." Years ago that appraisal would have meant the world to her but now it passed over her head meaning nothing,

"Well, I need to go back to the store now, you say hello to Chapman and the kids for me alright?"

"I will, promise." Shermy glanced at the kitchen clock, David would be home soon, she noted.

"You should come up and visit soon, it's not fair you keeping those little ones over the other side of the country. I wanna see my _eyniklekh._ "

Filbrick's voice was generally unchanging but with years of experience Shermy was able to detect the hint of fondness that surfaced when he spoke of his grandchildren.

"One of these days, dad. We'll make the trip over to Jersey" she said, wishing her parents would maybe just consider coming to her for a change.

Her father harrumphed into the phone, satisfied.

"Good, Glad to hear it. I'm passin' you back to ya mother now."

There was a murmur of conversation she couldn't catch in the background and then her mother's voice surfaced again.

They talked for another fifteen minutes, Opal filling in her daughter on the more recent Pines family gossip.

Herschel and his Mrs were squabbling again, another cousin was pregnant and it seemed her Aunt Selma had been diagnosed with some kind of cancer.

All of her mother's animated chatter washed over her. It was comforting, it didn't change.

For now Shermy could just listen and believe her family was just like any other, she didn't have to do anything.

The twins were playing together in the living room, Isaac was watching Bill Nye on the television.

Everything felt normal and she didn't have to think. Just for this few minutes she could listen to her Ma and pretend everything was okay.


	6. Age 16 (part 2): The Haircut

**Author's Notes:** Finally a chapter that isn't filled with pain and instead is fueled by my constant impulsive desire to chop my hair off with kitchen scissors.(Take a wild guess at Rosie Appleseed's role in canon, Pines kids seem to fall for redheads, and her old man runs a logging camp.)

 **tw** : mention of vomiting, morning sickness etc.

* * *

For the first time in a while Shermy didn't wake up in a cold sweat in pure panic. For the first time in forever she woke up in a strange bed and didn't freak out. She felt safe. Uncertain and a little nauseous but she was okay and she was safe here. Safe at Stanford's.

She was doing okay until she sat up, cross-legged in bed. Her stomach did a triple somersault, the blood running through her veins was suddenly a loud rushing noise in her ears like a jet engine.

 _Here it comes_ , she thought, _here comes the divine fucking retribution._ She thundered out into the landing and rushed into the second floor bathroom, just making in time to skid forward on her knees in front of the toilet bowl, slamming the door shut behind her.

"Shermy, you dying in there?" Ford's concerned voice came from the hallway, moving towards the sound of her vomiting.

"No, 'Ford everything is fuckin' peachy keen," she retched again, her throat burning with bile. "Absolutely _swell_ in here, _the tops_."

Her brother's snickering could be heard from through the wooden paneled door.

"Are you laughing at me? Just you wait til I regain the ability to stand, Stanford Pines, I'll kick your ass!"

"I'm not laughin' at ya, Mama Bear." said Ford through the door, clearly still laughing

"I'll break your fuckin schnoz." She muttered, smiling despite her swimming vision and queasy stomach. She wiped her mouth with her forearm, and waited a bit to be sure there wouldn't be any encore performances. Then she flushed the toilet and slowly like a baby giraffe she pulled herself stumbling up to stand, leaning on the counter, the wall, the side of the bath for support, until she got to the door to unlock it.

Ford opened the door, "Sher, I'm coming in." She swayed out of the way of the swinging door and fell forward into her brother's chest.

"Hi." she muttered, clinging to her brother's forearms like a crutch. He'd gotten a lot less scrawny in the five years since they'd last seen each other. Stanford had always been a bit of a skinny chickenshit. Now he had muscles.

"Hiya, kid. You alright?" he looked at her, concern etched on to his features.

"I'm hungry." She said, her eyes unfocused, her body swaying slightly.

Ford looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or cry at that.

"Ew forreal?" he laughed "I like your priorities."

'"Can we get pancakes? 'Cause I want pancakes." She said, with a yawn. Part of her wanted to go back to bed and hide forever but pancakes seemed like a more realistic option.

"You need a shower." He pointed at the singlet she'd slept in "You puked on your shirt, oh my god this is like being at home all over again." He snorted "I'm stuck babysittin', Ickle baby Sherm."

Shermy scrunched up her face. "You're an ass an' I hate you." She loosened her grip on his arm, still feeling light-headed.

"Yeah, yeah, don't puke on me, little Shermy-worm."

"Fight me, Stanford." She spat back, tired but grinning. This felt less forced then yesterday. Like normal siblinghood could resume for now.

"Sure, like I'm going to get in a fist fight with my pregnant sister."

"Don't call me that" she barked.

Ford mimed a face of mock hurt. "What? My sister? You are my sister."

Shermy rolled her eyes. "No dummy, the other thing."

"Pre- Oh. What'd you rather I say? Knocked up? Up the duff? Got a bun in the oven? Expecting?" her brother's eyes twinkled.

Oh, she could just hit that smug grinning face.

"Imma take that shower now." She said, face reddening and urge to punch rising dramatically.

She didn't remember Ford being this much of a dick when she was little, he was much more about tweed and quiet reading back then. Now he was a lot more like their dad.

If she was completely honest she liked the way was now better, the flaky mild-mannered academic persona would have left her an uncomfortable sobbing wreck as soon as she got there.

At least now she could have this great pretense of normality, something she needed desperately.

Stanford grinned. I'll go get you a towel." He moved back down the hall and paused.

"–Oh and Shermy?" he said.

"Yo?" she turned back around to look him.

"Don't worry about it. I'm not gonna tell anyone."

His sister didn't even try to contain her sigh of relief. "Thanks, Ford."

He smiled, shaking his head. "Don't mention it, squirt. You're family."

* * *

Shermy climbed out of the shower feeling born again. She wrapped the towel her brother had given her, around her middle, letting her hand rest on the skin below her stomach for a moment. The skin was sensitive and starting to swell but she didn't feel anything moving, no fluttering heartbeat or whatever it was she was expecting there to be. Sherm dropped her hand, she didn't know how she was supposed to feel. She moved to the counter wiping at the fogged up mirror and stealing Ford's comb to part her wet hair.

Her reflection looked so young. Long brown hair, soft freckled cheeks and her mother's nose, it didn't match what she felt like in her head at all. She needed to make a change, she felt it in a huge rush of endorphins like liquid lightning pulsing through her veins and throat.

She had seen scissors in her room hadn't she? There were boxes of notes and stationary stuff probably from her brother's journal making, did he still do that to keep notes in?

Her cousin Karen usually cut her hair, in fact she had cut her hair for as long as Shermy could remember, Karen had done a course in cosmetology once, and the Pines didn't have the funds for some fancy salon job. Shermy had more or less worn her hair the same way since infancy, which had caught her some flack in high school. Hand me down clothes from her brothers or her girl cousins, the same generic long hairstyle through the dramatic trends of the early 80s it made her an easy target for some of the other girls. Luckily she had punching on her side. But it didn't fix her appearance, if anything fights just added more bumps and scars.

She picked up her pajamas and crossed the landing back into her room, fetched a change of clothes and her hairbrush, she rummaged around in one of the crates that had been tucked in the corner until she found a pair of scissors. Pulling on underwear, yesterday's bra and a clean long-sleeved t-shirt she wandered back to the bathroom, in front of mirror.

There was some ancient factoid from a magazine article buzzing around in her head, or maybe something she'd over heard from other girls at school, whatever it was from she remembered hearing that tying your hair up in a ponytail before you cut it would layer your hair nicely.

This was true in theory, but Shermy Pines, was a writer, not an artist. She was as delicate as bricks and she had a stunning absence of anything remotely resembling impulse control. She was also using craft scissors. Despite having all of these factors to take in account, she hacked off her ponytail with little respect to length or straightness of cut and was left standing, half-dressed in her brother's bathroom, holding 60% of her hair in her hand.

"Shit." She said. There was little else to say about it.

"Ok, Sherm." She told herself "You better own this decision. You made the cut and your brother is gonna roast you alive if you admit you fucked up." She nodded at her own reflection and dumped her hair in the wastepaper basket. Covering her face with her eyes she turned back and peeked through her fingers at the damage.

Her hair was short, like really short and kind of slanted and uneven. Where her hair had originally come halfway now her back her hair now mostly stopped at her jawline, fluffy brown and messily cut.

Her Ma was gonna kill her, and she loved it. She snipped at the strands that were obviously too long and resolved to leave the rest alone.

Disposing of the evidence in the wastepaper basket in the bathroom she moved back into her attic bedroom, she pulled on some leggings and a clean sweater, this one red with a pattern of white and gold leaves, and she checked her reflection, smoothing down the fabric over her stomach her estimate put her at about 10 weeks along. She didn't look any different for saying she was two and a half weeks pregnant. It was almost like she could pretend this wasn't really happening, almost.

"Ford?" she called out thundering down the stars in her bare feet. "Are ya gonna make good on that pancake promise or not?"

Her brother's laughter came from the other room. "I'm in the living room, twerp"

She followed his voice to find him reading the newspaper in an armchair. He looked up at her and startled instantly.

 _Ok_ , she thought, _maybe a bit not good_?

"Shermy, your hair-"He said raising his eyebrows and struggling to keep a straight face.

 _Definitely a bit not good_ , she thought cold dread washing over her, god I must have made an absolute mess of myself. He's gonna laugh at me. I can't got back to school like this.

She remembered her decision to own it, this morning and turned on the defensive.

"What about it? It's my hair." She asked, voice closer to a growl than speech.

Stanford shrugged, he didn't seem as upset as she'd originally thought. His voice was neutral.

"Sure, and it suits you. Just let me even out the back for ya." he said. "No sister of mine is having a mullet under my roof."

She ran her fingers through her newly-short hair, tentatively. "Okay but why should I trust you with a pair of scissors?" She asked.

Ford smirked, there was that shit-eating grin that reminded her of her Pop in salesman mode.

"I'll do a better job than you." he said, blasé as ever.

Shermy blew him a raspberry " _Rude_ , Stanford." But he probably had a point.

"Well it's true, 'sides I've been cutting my own hair for years now."

"Fine, I left the scissors upstairs in the bathroom."

"Go grab a seat, in the kitchen, kiddo. There's better light in there at this hour."

"What about breakfast?" as if to illustrate her point her stomach gurgled.

Stanford waved a hand as he headed towards the doorway.

"Yeah yeah, we'll head to the diner in a bit, just let me deal with one thing at a time, yeah?"

* * *

Shermy sat in one of her brother's wooden dining chairs, her back towards the window, which haloed her in the cool October morning sunlight. Also behind her was the ominous soundtrack of scissors snipping as her brother trimmed her hair.

"Who normally does your hair, anyway or are our folks finally shilling out for something for once in their lives?"  
"No way!" said Shermy, trying to keep her head steady "Sometimes I think dad wouldn't pay for an ambulance if he were dying."

Ford laughed at that but it wasn't a good laugh. It was cold and unhappy.

Sherm bit the soft inside of her lip. Maybe their father was a point of contention here.

"Do you remember a Cousin Karen? Rebekah's youngest, she's a couple of years younger than you."

"Yeah vaguely, like as a toddler in diapers."

"She's twenty eight, Stanford."

"Those must be pretty big diapers."

Shermy risked turning around to give him an annoyed look. Ford snipped the hairdressing scissors menacingly in the air

"Sit still, squirt or I'll get your neck on accident." Shermy rolled her eyes but she turned back around.

"Fine, anyway Karen's the one who usually does my hair. She lives close to us and she used to work as a hair dresser."

"Oooh, get you youngest siblings and your fancy hairdressing cousins. When we were little Dad cut our hair for us and if you think he's normally scary you've never seen the man with a pair of clippers, once he got m-Stanley's ear accidentally and he had to wear a bandage for a bit. We told the other kids at school he'd been in a knife fight." He let out a bark of laughter, rich and warm that made the hair of the back of Shermy's neck stand on end, her chest felt cold.

That laugh was so familiar, it was drumming up something buried deep and ancient in her brain. That laugh was like the whisper of a ghost. It was the strangest sensation. "I bet that made you popular in Glass Shard." She said with a smile trying to place the unsettled feeling she felt on hearing her brother laugh. Like something misremembered from a dream and she didn't all the other puzzles pieces to put together what was wrong.

"All done!" said Stanford after several minutes, putting the scissors down. She stood up brushing the left over hair off her shoulders. She checked her reflection in the mirror behind her. The short length of her hair mad her hair curl and fluff up a lot more than it did when it was long and the way Ford had cut it short at the back and longer around her door reminded her of an old photo of Clara Bow, an 1930s actress who her mother adored. It was retro, she thought, but it suited her better than what she'd had before.

"Thanks, bro. It looks really good!?"She said slinging her arms around her objecting brother's neck.

"You say that like you're surprised. I mean didn't I already say I was amazing."

She punched him in the arm, smiling. "You're a jack of all trades, Fordy."

"Yeah, yeah. You're just sayin' that 'cause I'm buyin' you breakfast."

"Damn straight, I am." She said pulling her sweater back over her newly short hair. "C'mon I'm starving."

"Kids." Said Ford with an exaggerated shake of his head, but he held the front door open for her first before he followed her outside to the car.

* * *

Rosie Appleseed was a beautiful human being. A High school junior and part-time waitress at Greasy's Diner. She had bright coppery curls cut short in a bob. Her face was a map of freckled constellations she had a gap in between her two front teeth. It was adorable, she was a breath-taking sight to behold.

She'd greeted Stan with a friendly warmth and even shaken Shermy's hand when she came over to give them their menus. Stanford seemed to be known in this diner, the owner Susan waved to him from behind the counter as they took their seats.

Shermy Pines was enamoured. Her pancakes sat in front of her soaking up syrup and she sat there transfixed by the waitress, her mouth agape.

Stanford Pines had had enough. He stopped with a forkful of pie poised in mid-air and waved his free hand in front of his sister's eyes.

"Shermy seriously, put away the heart-eyes, honey. You're in enough of a situation as is.

"Shuddup, I wasn't staring, just like the way she wears her hair is all.

"Shermaine Bathsheba Pines, you are glowing gayer than a full ensemble Broadway musical number.

"Am not." She said, ducking her head with twin crimson cheeks. Her attention back on her food.

Stanford grinned, "Are too, they could use your face as a stoplight."

"I hate you." She said, trying not to laugh, returning to her task of stuffing pancakes in her mouth, like a squirrel hoarding acorns.

Ford snorted, throwing back another cup of coffee.

"Nah, you don't. it's impossible to hate me. I'm _adorable_."

His sister rolled her brown doe eyes at him. "You're gross." she said, smile audible in her voice.

Stanford shrugged, "You love it"

Shermy with all her maturity and near adult poise and wisdom made a squelching fart noise with her mouth.

In return, her Latin-speaking, physics-loving nerd brother pulled his nostrils up into a pig nose and crossed his eyes at her. It was gloriously childish display.

"Everything okay here, Stan?" asked Rosie, coming over with water to refill their glasses.

"Just swell, thank you sweetheart." He said with a friendly smile, Rosie nodded to Shermy as well before she moved to the booth behind them to take the orders of the couple behind them.

Shermaine raised her eyebrows. "They call you Stan here. Leila, the officer from yesterday, she called you Stan too"

Her brother shrugged, staring down at his plate. "Yeah, what of it?"

Shermy pulled her lips down into a quiet frown. He was being purposely dense again. It might have worked on his customers but Shermy knew her brother and he was a certified genius, if a stubborn one at that.

"Stanford…"she started, voice gentle. She quickly trailed off, the words 'If you ever want to talk about him' hung unsaid in the air.

No one ever wanted to talk about Stanley but her. She was desperate to talk about him, about how she grew up not worried about the monsters who lived under her bed or in her closet but the ones who lived in the old boxes on her bedroom desk, the things that left tear tracks on her mother's face when she was sleeping. Stanley was a folktale to her, a Bloody Mary figure whose name alone could disintegrate the two most important adults in her life who were supposed to be invincible.

Shermy wanted to talk about how one of her earliest memories was of when she was three and her father found out her mother had been meeting Stanley in secret, to give him food and money. How quiet and tense the house had been and how little toddler Shermy had screamed and kicked and cried just to keep her parents moving, just to stop them from fighting.

She thought once more of her parents right now, back at home in Glass Shard, and with tears pricking her eyes she wondered if she could ever go back.

Her brother groaned aloud, rubbing his nose where the horned glasses pinched skin.

"Don't you dare, don't you dare cry on me again. It's too early for the waterworks. Eat your pancakes, kid. I don't care what you call me."

Shermy stared down at her plate making patterns in the syrup with her knife.

"Sorry." she whispered, blinking back tears.

Ford grunted. "It's fine, don't worry. There's nothing to apologise for."

"Hey Ford?

He sighed. "What is it now?"

"You know how you said yesterday, that I could stay here?

"Mm?" his eyes moved around the diner, observing the other patrons

"What about if Ma and Pa kick me out?"

Her brother looked at her, face serious.

"Then you'll be staying here longer, and you can help me out in the shack."

"What about, you know?" She gestured down at herself in a vague sweeping movement.

Ford scratched his nose "I know lots of things, be specific." He said.

Shermy looked around once, twice, three times to check no one was eavesdropping. Especially making sure the cute waitress was well out of earshot.

"The baby." She hissed.

Ford shrugged, not understanding. "What about 'em?"

"I-I can't ask you to put up with both of us."

Stanford rolled his eyes, in the most frustratingly patronising Ford-ish gesture ever.

"Shermaine you are my sister, nothing ever is going to stop you from being my sister. Your kid is gonna be my family too, _versteh_? We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, right now I just want you safe and comfortable.I told ya yesterday, you'll always have a home with me and I meant every word."

She squeezed her hands into white-knuckled fists around her cutlery.

"I don't even know if I'm gonna keep it. I mean I can't even look after myself like 90% of the time, how am I gonna look after a tiny human? I could _crush_ it, Ford!" she said.

Her brother shrugged all non-committal, for a second he was a weird caricature of their mother. "It's up to you to decide, kiddo. I'm just here for support, but no one is expecting you to raise a kid alone, you'll have me here and hopefully Ma and Pop will help you out too."

"Thanks." She couldn't say anything more, than 'thank you,' no matter how much she wanted to.

Ford smiled, sipping his coffee. "I'll talk to Ma when she calls, Shermy. There's no way she's gonna let another kid slip through her hands."

"She once told Pop that if he even thought about cutting me or you off, she'd pack her things and leave with me and all the money."

"Good on her." Stanford sighed "Pop's a piece of crap. I dunno if I could stand to be in the same room as him these days."

Shermy reached across the table and grabbed his hand. She wanted to tell her brother that she loved him a lot and that what happened to Stanley did not reflect back on him as a person. But that wasn't the Pines family way. She squeezed his hand tightly, and sipped at her milkshake.

Stanford squeezed it back hurriedly, trying not to acknowledge he had emotions in public.

"Come on, kid. Let's not focus on this depressing shit. I'm due to head back to work soon anyway. So finish up your grub."

"Okay but I'm going to say hi to our waitress first."

"Oh my god, Sherm no. you're gonna be the death of me I swear."

She stuck her tongue out "Sherm _yes_. I'm gonna do it more now, maybe I'll get her number"

"Smart ass."

* * *

Shermy knocked on her brother's open bedroom door. He was inside changing his shirt to something that fit his 'mystery man' persona for work.

Ford glanced over his shoulder at her as she lent in the doorway arms crossed against her chesy.

"Did you get lil Rosie's number in the end, kiddo?" he asked.

"Yeah but just to know someone local around my age I can hang out with." She said, shrugging.

Stanford scoffed. "Hang out, huh? Is that what kids are calling it these days?"

"No, you jerk, as friends." She moved closer to him, standing by the mirror and sticking out her tongue, turning pink in the face. "Besides I doubt it'd work out, she's straight and I'm pregnant."

"A tragedy for the ages, I'm sure." Her brother muttered as he straightened his ridiculous fez. "It's probably just as well, kid. I mean, her old man runs a lumber mill just outside of town. He can fell a 30 ft. redwood with his eyes closed, a scrawny 5ft Pine Tree would be child's play for him."

She punched him in the arm "Don't call me that. You're a Pine tree too, asslord." As an afterthought she reached up and flicked his fez off his head.

"Hey, watch it!" he whined.

Shermy picked the hat off the floor and held it out to him.

"You look like a performing monkey, why do you even wear that thing?"

"It adds mystery." He said, snatching it from her.

"Lemme guess, that's why there's question marks on everything too?"

"Duh, this is the Mystery Shack."

Shermy rolled her eyes, incredulous "Did you come up with that name all on your lonesome, smart guy?"

Her brother shrugged. "For the first year or so it was the Murder Hut."

"Oh my…Stanford _what the fuck_?"

"Yep, it didn't exactly sell very well, that's why we changed." Her brother re-knotted his garish red and yellow question mark novelty tie.

"I was wondering, do you need me to help at all? 'snot fair if I'm staying here and I'm not helping."

"Not with the tour, but if you can help Daryl stocking up the gift shop, that'd be swell."

"Can I punch him if he tries to hit on me?" she asked

"You can fire his greasy ass, no one messes with my baby sister."

"Thanks Ford, but I'm almost seventeen." Shermy said crossing her arms across her chest.

Ford shrugged. "Well then, you're a big baby then."

"A big baby with a baby?" she snorted, her brother cracked a grin.

Her brother held up his hands in self-defense. "Woah now, you said it, not me!"

"Yeah well, anyway. I'll be heading down to the gift shop if you need me for anything."

"Thanks, Shermy."

She turned around to look at him and shook her head, smiling fondly,

"No, Stanford. Thank you, seriously. For everything. You're the best family I've ever had."


	7. Age 33: The New Arrivals

**Author's Notes:** So obviously I read the new GF game spoilers on tumblr where Stanley talks about Canon Shermie (note the ie, i'm gonna use that to make a distinction) and how Stan was there for the twins birth (it's adorable I gotta say) So when bringing it over into my AU I had to take several things into account: 1) Dipper is trans, 2) why would Stanley be at the birth when his relationship with his sister is still on the mend?, 3)How are Stanley and Shermy affected by the twin's birth? 4) Why can't I name Mrs Pines entire family after Twin Peaks characters? you can't stop me.

To be completely honest I could have written this whole chapter in Stan's POV but that would make it an Interlude not a chapter and it's called 'The Life and Times of Shermaine Pines', for a reason. Also a quick note about pronouns: Dipper here is a literal baby, he is less than an hour old consequently both POVs will only think of him using she pronouns/ feminine titles, the same way Stanley is referred to as Stanford in Shermy's POV. It's not a matter of me misgendering Dip it's more of a 'they don't know he's a boy yet' thing. Dipper remains a boy even when others are unaware of his gender.

still just to be safe **trigger warning for misgendering** (kinda?)

* * *

 _(Stanley)_

"I am far too young to be a grandmother." said Shermaine, her head resting on her big brother's shoulder.

It was nearly ten at night on August the 31st the last official day of Summer, though the Californian air had still been warm and sticky when they arrived several hours ago.

Stan had only flown in from Oregon that morning. Shermy's husband: David Chapman-Pines was stuck in London on business and Shermy needed her brother to be her moral support, another adult to have there for the birth of her first grandchildren.

Isaac Pines stopped mid-pace tufts of brown hair splaying out everywhere, fear and apprehension staining his freckled face.

"You're too young!? Mother, I am barely seventeen."

"Yes and whose fuckin' fault is that, Isaac?" asked Shermy, her tone brooked no nonsense.

Stanley chuckled into his polystyrene coffee cup. The coffee itself was lukewarm but he chucked it back anyway.

"Seventeen's rather dignified compared to Shermy." He said, his sister slapped him on the arm.

"Shush, you." She hissed.

"Mr Pines?" A youngish nurse stuck her head around the door. "She wants you, it won't be long now." She said with a soft smile at Shermy and Stanley.

Isaac straightened himself up and nodded at his mother and uncle, he pushed his glasses up his nose, his face pale.

He disappeared into the room, but not before a loud cry of pain escaped from the room. Stan flinched, his sister however didn't seem that bothered by it.

"Do they know what they're havin'?" he asked, trying to make conversation, not wanting to be left alone with his thoughts for long.

She frowned. "Twins, Stanford. I told you that already."

"No. I mean gender-wise, not that it matters, 'course. I was just thinkin' if we get a girl and a boy then we've collected the set."

Shermy chuckled, the noise buzzed thorugh his shoulder. Her voice was tired. Her eyes stayed closed to block out the harsh white hospital lights.

"They're identical twins, though. They'll be identical."

"No one is truly identical, Shermy-Sherm." he said, keeping his tone light.

She squeezed at his arm. "Yeah, I guess you'd know."

"Y'know what they say, third time's the charm, eh?" he joked.

Shermy's lips quirked at the corners, she adjusted her head so Stan's shoulder wasn't digging into her."Yeah, and good things come in threes."

Her brother paused, thinking. "Wouldn't that be triplets though?"

Shermy shrugged. "Three sets of twins in a family works too right?"

"I sure hope so, honey." Stanley shook his head. "I sure hope so."

* * *

It wasn't long, the nurse had been right about that. Within fifteen minutes of closing, the door to Laura's hospital room swung open, revealing his nephew.

"We have a girl!" he cried, eyes huge and sparkling. "Well, technically we have two girls, or we will do."

Isaac was smiling out his ears, though he still looked kind of shell-shocked.

"Baby number one is okay, they've just taken her out to be weighed, we're waiting on baby number two to make her appearance."

" _Mazel Tov!_ " Stanley leapt up clapping his nephew on the shoulder.

His sister burst into predictable tears and embraced her son first, then her brother, wiping her eyes on the shoulder of Stan's shirt.

"Congrats Grandma Sherm." He whispered, pressing a kiss to her head.

Mrs Hirsch, Laura's mother, brought the bundle out of the birthing room "Come and meet the rest of the family, sweetheart." She said.

Shermy took the baby first, still sniffling, happy tears dribbling down her cheeks.

Stan got out a handkerchief from his pants' pocket and wiped his sister's face for her. "Crybaby." he whispered.

His sister chuckled, stoking the child's soft downy hair. "Oh shush, I mean just look at her."

"Do you wanna hold her for a bit, Great Uncle Stanford?" Asked Shermy putting the soft pink bundle into his arms, it felt like playing pass the brand new sentient parcel. "I'm gonna try get David on the phone, and I better call the twins too." She said pulling her mobile out of her pocket.

"Watch out for her hands, Uncle Stan." Said Isaac moving out from the doorway staring at his newborn daughter with a dazed reverence. "She's already punched a doctor."

"That's my girl!" Stan laughed, chest swelling with pride and…some other less happy emotions he didn't want to look at just yet. "Punched a Doctor! What a star!"

"Just make sure you support her head properly." Chided his sister, reaching over and guiding his hand down a bit. "There we go." She put her phone back to her ear.

"Does she have a name yet?" Stan asked Isaac who was staring at his baby girl like there was nobody else in the world but them. Isaac glanced up at his voice.

"Well we haven't decided which is which yet, but we were thinking of calling her Mabel."

Stanley looked at the bundle in his arms who pursed her lips and stared right back, not quite used to blinking yet.

She was beautiful, Stanley could make out her grandmother's dark eyes, her father's face shape, her mother's nose (Phew, he noted, lucky kid).

"Mabel? Yeah that suits her." Stan said after a while, nodding approvingly.

A tiny baby fist shot up and waved about a bit.

"Hey there slugger," Stan whispered. "That's called punching and you've got it down pat."

His nephew chuckled. "She's a Pines, Stan, It's in her genes."

"Is the other one alright?" Stan asked, staring into his great niece's liquid brown eyes, already rapt.

In the corner of his vision he saw Isaac nod.

"They were worried because she had her cord wrapped around her neck, but she's breathing on her own now. Laura's got her. They'll bring her out in a bit once she's had a feed and they've weighed her and everything." He said, running a hand backwards through his brown curls.

Baby Mabel stuck a tiny hand out and latched on to Stan's nose like a vice, prompting a yelp from her great uncle.

"Ow! Ow, kid again with the nose. Y'know your old man did the same to me when he was born." He said removing the tiny death grip from his face.

"Babies go for the biggest point of reference." Snarked Shermy with smiles spilling out her thin lips, the phone cradled between her neck and shoulder.

Stanley rolled his eyes good-naturedly in his sister's direction. He didn't tell her but in that moment she look exactly like their mother.

An old flare of grief licked at him as he stared into the tiny doe eyes before him. His Ma would have torn the moon down from the sky for these girls, Opal Pines had been nigh inconsolable when Sam and Merm were born.

The thought burned the back of his throat, he swallowed the bile.

 _Please_ , he thought as loud as he could, _Please, if there really is any higher power, don't let history repeat itself. Not for Samantha and Miriam, and especially not for these two, they're blank slates, they're blameless._ He took a deep inhale of breath to calm the tendrils of fear that curled up inside him.

 _My mistakes are not theirs to bear._

The door opened again.

"Hey there, you're the dad right? Here's twin number two" said the nurse, bringing out another pink-blanketed bundle and setting it in Isaac's arms. "Check out that birthmark, it's an unusual one. Almost looks like a spoon, don't you think?"

"Wow." Said Isaac, taking his daughter in his arms. "It totally does."

"That's not just a spoon!" gasped Shermy. "That's Ursa Major! Darling, she's got a _constellation_ on her head!"

Stan laughed at that, peering over at the newcomer. Held still held little Mabel close to his chest.

"Would you look at that!" he cried, there on the other twin's forehead was a darker red pattern of skin. True enough, even Stan could see the pattern of Ursa Major in the mark.

Shermy looked over at her son, smiling. "You got yourself a little Big Dipper, _bubbele_."

"Not many kids come out of the womb with a nickname." Said Isaac nuzzling his daughter into his shoulder.

Stanley squeezed tight his regular five-fingered hand. It was August, so he hadn't thought to wear the gloves, luckily everyone was too busy and excited for the birth to notice a missing finger.

He said nothing, focusing all his attention on little Mabel in his arms, who for his troubles, socked him promptly in the cheek. It didn't hurt but it was surprisingly tough.

"Oof! What a right hook! Just like her grandma." He said, laughing. He passed the baby over to Laura's father who'd just arrived and was hurriedly shaking everyone's hand.

Shermy was busy rapid-fire briefing her husband on the phone. But Isaac laughed at his joke, no doubt remembering the incident all those years ago. It had reached that point where they could laugh about it now, he noted. That was good, he could manage that.

"Would you like a turn holding little Dipper, here Uncle Stan?" he asked, looking rather exhausted and overwhelmed. "Dad wants a word with us and I want to check how Laura's doing." Stan nodded holding out his arms to take his other great niece.

"Hey there, little Dipper, I'm your Great Uncle Stanford." That was a mouthful for a kid to learn, he needed to shorten that somehow. Dipper blinked at him, as if her this new roller-coaster of sights and sounds was a puzzle for her fifteen minute old self to solve.

"I get it. She's the puncher, you're the thinker, eh?" He said, peering at the placid brown eyed little face, the baby stared back unbothered by all the changing faces and sights. "Fair enough. This family needs all the brains it can get."

Stanley tried to ignore the way all the lights in the room start to sheen and bloom with halos. Dipper made a pursed lipped face like she was surprised. Stanley blinked rapidly to dispel the tears before any of his family saw. He cleared his throat too, trying to rid himself of the lump he felt growing there.

He said nothing for a while, just staring at the little bundle in his arms. Finally he spoke to her again.

"That's amazing, that birthmark you got. Means you're an original piece of art." He pressed his lips to the baby's starry forehead. "Don't you ever let anyone tell you different, kiddo."

"She's not getting a space name, Dad. Isaac was saying into Shermy's phone. "I promise, though Mom's already given her Dipper as a nickname."

Stan grinned. "I think you'd should just name her that, Iz. If the shoe fits."

Shermy reached over to take her granddaughter from her brother's arms.

"They've already chosen her name, Ford. Haven't they sweetheart?" she made a series of inane cooing noises.

"You sound just like Mom." Her brother groaned.

She smiled somewhat smugly. "I'm a grandmother now, asslord, I'll fuss all I want."

"Ooh Grandma Sherm." He wasn't going to let her live this down, it was practically his duty as her brother to give her shit about being all clucky, even though both twins already had their great uncle wrapped around their little fingers.

"I'm Nonna Shermy, actually. David's Zaidie. Audrey and Dale are Grandma and Gramps."

"Not _Bubbe?_ " he said referring to what they called their father's mother. The Yiddish for grandmother.

"Our _bubbe_ smelt like vodka and damp, Stanford. My strongest memory of her was her threatening to hex me when I was like five. Forgive me, if that's not an aesthetic I'm keen to follow."

Stanley nodded in understanding, their _bubbe_ had been a mildly terrifying little Polish woman who slept with a revolver by her bed. She was impressive in the same way tornadoes were impressive but her title hardly brought to mind the kind of motherly tenderness Sherm was going for.

"Nonna's a lot cooler than that, ain't she Dipper?" She cooed to the baby.

Dipper belched, spittle bubbling on her lips. Shermy wiped it off gently with the back of her hand.

Stan snorted. "I agree, kid."

Shermy gave him a pointed look. He shut up.

She stroked her grandchild's chubby cheek with a thumbprint.

"My little girl, my _bubbele_ , my little fleck of stardust." A thought crossed her face, Stan saw his sister light up all of a sudden and she turned to her son smiling. "Hey Isaac, if she's marked with the Big Dipper than Mabel should be 'Polaris'. The brightest northern star, they point to each other."'

Stanley didn't bother hiding his laugh at that, his little sister and her space stuff, she'd never gotten over that obsession. Ford was responsible for that, no doubt.

He pushed that thought back down down down, this was a happy occasion he wasn't going to let that old nerd drag him down. Not today.

Instead he tried to follow what his nephew was saying.

"Mom, don't assign weird space names to my kids. They're not even an hour old.

* * *

 _(Shermy)_

They left the hospital at about half past eleven Shermy was almost asleep on her feet, Isaac was staying overnight, the Hirsches had already gone home once their daughter and granddaughter were soundly asleep.

She felt almost high. She kept muttering "I'm a grandmother." Over and over again as if by desensitizing herself to the words it would somehow make them more real. Stanford thought this was funny at least, he kept looking over at her as they walked to the car, a fond smile on his lips.

"I know, Shermy." he would say, "I was, in fact, right there with you."

When she took two minutes to fish her keys out of her purse, he looked at her, his face deadpan, and took the keys from her hand.

"I'll drive." He said. "You look like you just ran a marathon, Nonna." And she knew she was tired because she moved over to the passenger side, and didn't even argue with him.

"I haven't been sleeping." She said, stifling a yawn. "What with David away, and constantly waiting to get the call to come here, I've been stretching myself thin."

"You can sleep on the way, if you want." Ford said putting her car into gear. "Though, I might need directions."

Shermy nodded staring out the passenger seat window at the city lights.

"Are you okay, Stanford?" she asked, not looking at him.

"I'm better than okay, kid. Those lil squirts punched me right in the heart."

"That's what I meant, it wasn't too painful, I hope."

"You mean because they're twins? Nah. It's alright. Twins are just twins, I don't have any issue with Sammy and Merm, do I?"

"No, I s'pose not. She said, thinking. "Take the next exit after this."

Her brother followed her instructions. "A whole new branch on the Pines family tree, huh?" he said.

"Yeah, it's so surreal. My Izzy, my little boy is a dad now. It's so…" she trailed off, shaking her head.

Words alone couldn't convey how she felt about this whole thing it was too huge for words.

Her brother glanced across at her briefly before changing lanes. "Did you tell Pop?"

Shermy stopped. She knew there was someone she'd left out.

"Shit, no I didn't think to. I'll call him tomorrow. I might even go in to see him"

"I could come with ya- if you want that is" He shrugged, eyes on the road ahead. His face was bathed in streetlight but she couldn't read his expression.

She paused, momentarily unsure of what to say.

"Ford, I would _never_ ever ask that of you, ya hear?"

"I know, I know. It's why I'm offering." He shook his head. "I'm not saying I'm going backflip into the guy's arms or anythin' just thought I'd make an appearance is all. I haven't seen him since Ma died I thought maybe this time it might be better on happier terms."

"Yeah, I guess." Shermy didn't have the energy to keep the uncertainty out of her voice. "Take the next street on the right and head up the hill."

They were more or less silent for the rest of the drive home.

0o0o0o0

When they got back to the Chapman-Pines residence the twelve-year-old twins were curled up on the sofa, Sam sleeping in Merm's lap as the latter read a magazine.

"Mom? Uncle Stan?" Merm put her magazine down and stretched her neck clicking audibly. "What time is it?"

"Midnight" guessed Stan.

Shermy nodded. "It's way past bedtime, you two."

Merm nodded and poked her twin in the side. "Move doofus, my hip's gone to sleep."

"Mrrrh?" Sam made a noise like a sleeping kitten, her eyes still closed. "'then stay still."

"No, my ass is numb. You gotta move." Merm rolled her half-asleep sister onto the floor, successfully waking her."

"Ma?" asked Sam sitting up on the lounge floor. "Are the babies okay? What are their names?"

Shermy pointed an index finger towards the stairs.

"I said, bed time, both of you. I can answer questions once we hear more from your brother in the morning. When they've had time to fill out birth certificates and things."

Both twins groaned but they did do as they were told, heading upstairs, single file.

"You run a tight ship." Stanford laughed. "It's like Ma 2.0"

"Damn straight, I do." She said, yawning. "You know where the guest room is?"

"Yep, don't worry about me baby sister. You just get some sleep."

She followed him down the hallway, checking that he did actually know where he was going.

"Night Stanford, give a shout if you need anything."

Her brother gave her a thumbs up.

"Night, Nonna Sherm."

She chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. Stick it up your ass, Ford."

"Hey Shermy?" said Stanford.

"Yeah?" concerned, she turned back around to look at him.

He paused for dramatic effect. "Did I mention that you're a grandmother now?"

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "No, you must have forgotten to mention it." She drawled.

Her brother lingered in the doorway, cracking a smile of his own.

"Yeah, well 'm proud of you grandma. Seriously, ya raised a good man, in Isaac. He'll be an amazing dad."

"Thanks, Ford." She murmured, a warmth filling her chest, like breathing in sunlight.

Somehow those words meant more to Shermy than any 'good kid' or 'well done' that Filbrick Pines could offer.

Her brother closed his bedroom door behind him.

"G'Night." He called out softly.

Shermy stood in the hallway a stupid smile on her face.

She was a grandmother, a mother, a wife, a sister.

She was content with her lot.

She was alright for now.


	8. Interlude 2: Sanctuary (Stanley)

**A/N:** Sorry for the long wait in between chapters! A bunch of personal stuff came up!

This chapter is a very different thing tone wise to the last few chapters and consequently super long (7k!) But I wanted a chapter focusing on Stanley, and the most interesting period of his life not shown in canon is the period of homelessness and roughing it, in between Stan getting kicked out and meeting up with Ford eleven years later. I wanted to write about how getting kicked out skewed Stan's perceptions of self-worth and loyalty into the bitter mess we've seen in other chapters and can I just say damn this one's a doozy.

So far in this fic and in this series' canon we've seen a surprising amount of tact and understanding in regards to lgbtqia issues and themes from Stan wrt Dipper being trans and Shermaine's bisexuality. This chapter expands on where a relatively sheltered Jewish kid from small town NJ could have learned about that kind of stuff. I want to hug Stan a lot.

 **Multiple trigger warnings for this chapter:** graphic violence, lesbophobic and transphobic slurs, transphobia, homophobia, unsafe binding practices, negative self talk, descriptions of injury and blood, alcohol mention and consumption, drug mention.

* * *

 **Sanctuary (Stanley)**

 _Colorado, 1974._

Stanley Franklin Pines was a warrior, a fighter, the underdog.

Stanley Franklin Pines was an adventurer, a risk taker, an entrepreneur.

Stanley Franklin Pines was alone in the world.

Stuck out under the awning of a public library of a small town, somewhere in Colorado while the grey skies opened and pissed out their contents into the street. He didn't even remember the name of the town he was in. Life on the road had blurred geography into a serious of landmarks: gas station, gym, parking lot, soup kitchen, bargain store etc. Right now this city was 'Public Library Parking Lot, Rain'. The parking lot he'd left his car in was visible from where he stood but the rain was coming down in such huge sheets he didn't want to risk ruining the nicest pair of jeans he owned.

Groaning, he pulled out the cigarette he'd tucked behind his ear earlier for safe-keeping, taking his lighter from his pocket, he lit it with hands shaking from the cold. He felt the rush of nicotine before he'd even pulled his hands away. Much better.

"Hey, man. Can I use your light?"

Stan glanced up cigarette pressed to his lips. The speaker was a youngish guy, leather jacket, soft round features and slicked back dark hair.

He pressed his back against the wall. Avoiding the spray of the rain.

"Sure thing." He held up his lighter to the other man's face and lit his smoke for him.

"This fuckin' rain, there'll be no places left to sleep tonight if it keeps up like this." The guy was saying, shaking his head.

"I guess I'm lucky there," Stan muttered. "I've still got my ride." he nodded in the direction of his car.

The other guy whistled low. "Nice car."

"Thanks, she's all I got." Stan shrugged. It wasn't even an exaggeration.

The guy furrowed his brow, thinking. "Hey man, where you from? You sound kinda East Coast at a guess?"

Stanley smiled. "Yep, born and bred. Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey. You?"

"Little place just outside Newark. Small World."

"Sure is. 'm Stan." He held out the hand that wasn't holding his cigarette to his lips.

He was supposed to be Hal Forrester but he'd long grown tired of the name and one stranger on the street wasn't gonna make that much of a difference.

The man cracked a smile, "Tony." He said and he shook it.

"Long way from home, huh Tony?"

Stan stared out at the hills in the distance, the trees nearby were turning orange and yellow but the mountains still hung huge and green over the town.

"Depends if you call it home or not." The other man said with a hint of bitterness to his voice.

"That's true." He thought of the beach, the pawn shop, the swing set. His chest hurt. He buried it.

"So how did a Kid from Newark end up in Colorado of all places?

Tony shrugged, still staring out at the rain. "Hitch-hiked a bit. Then I caught a bus."

"I mean what do ya do around here?"

"Try to get by, mostly. I got a gig at the movie theatre on Saturdays, it's not much but it's money y'know." He smiled a lopsided smile.

Stanley nodded. "Sounds like a good thing. I dabble, I try my hand at inventing, door to door sales that kinda thing."

Tony shrugged again."Sounds pretty good to me."

"Eh, it's a living I guess." Stan didn't sound all that thrilled, even he the master salesman was failing to sell his profession, he was tired and cold and he lived in his car, it wasn't exactly an easy sell.

"Yeah, well. Good luck with everything, Stan. Thanks for the light."

"No problemo."

Tony turned and walked away something fluttering down from his pants pocket like a snowflake.

Stan bent down to pick up the square of paper that had fallen through the hole in the other man's pocket.

He turned it over it was a photo of a young girl building a sandcastle, maybe five or six years old, blond curly hair, sandy hands and a huge grin for the camera.

"Hey buddy, you dropped this!"

Tony turned back around curious, "Huh?"

Stan held out the photo for him to take.

"Sweet kid, she yours?"

Tony stepped back towards him and took the photo, tucking it into his pocket.

"My niece," he said, smiling at the picture with glassy eyes. "My sister's kid. She's five."

"I got a kid sister around that age." Stan said, always one to overshare. "Back in Jersey. I haven't seen her since she was a bundle in a blanket."

The younger man blinked. "You haven't been home in five years?" Something in his expression softened at that.

Stanley shoved his hands in his pockets for warmth and shook his head. He tried to smile but the words that left his mouth were anything but chipper.

"No, siree. Not since I was seventeen"

Tony nodded, kicking at a can on the pavement not far out of his reach. It bounced and rolled out into the rain.

"Same here.' He said, eyes cast downwards. "I was eighteen though. I'm almost twenty now. My folks had to wait until they could legally kick me out and all that jazz."

Stan barked out a harsh mirthless laugh, that sounded nice almost, to have a parent who cared about stuff such as the legal age to kick out your own flesh and blood.

It seemed a bit more respectful, if anything.

"My old man didn't seem to care about something as tiny as the law when he was kicking my ass to the curb."

Tony laughed awkwardly, searching his face for signs it was an okay topic to laugh about.

"It's cool you got a car though. I got my license but I left before I got to get a car of my own."

There was a pause where either man said anything, both stood smoking, staring out into the rain that was already starting to fade in intensity.

Stanley dropped his cigarette butt on the ground and stomped on it. He turned to Tony.

"Hey man, do you want a ride somewhere or something?" He said, trying to sound non-committal, hands still in his pockets.

Tony perked up at that. "What really?" He looked at him, wide-eyed and youthful.

"Yeah, the rain is letting up but the weather is still shit, I don't mind dropping you off somewhere. If you want. I don't got nowhere to be." Stan stared off into the distance

"I was gonna go meet a couple of friends at Sanctuary, this place in town, you can come along if you want. They have free food sometimes too, but they've probably closed for lunch by now it's near three."

"That sounds swell, c'mon we can make a break for it now and not get soaked."

* * *

They'd barely left the library parking lot and were just cruising down a smaller street when they ran into a police stop.

Stan let out a groan of frustration, _just his luck._

"Hey man, can you pass my license? It's in the glovebox."

Shit, shit. This was the opposite of what Stan wanted right now. He thought he'd made a friend here, but now he was gonna know he was a lying snake.

Tony leaned forward and opened the glove compartment, fishing out the license inside.

"Hal Forrester?" he read off the plastic.

"That's the one." Said Stan with a sigh. He rolled down his window and handed the card to the policeman who walked up beside it.

"Afternoon, sir. May I have your license and registration please?"

"Here ya go, officer."

The police officer looked at his license to his face and back at the license again. He checked the date on his car's registration.

"Everything seems to be in order Mr Forrester. You gentlemen have a good afternoon now."

They drove away in silence. Stan's internal monologue cussing him out for ruining a good thing once more.

He didn't want to look the other man in the eye now.

"Hey, Tony about that license..." he started to say.

Tony cracked a small smile.

"Don't mention it, man. Tony isn't the name on my driver's license either."

Stan looked at his new found friend's face, he smiled, and his grin grew wider until it culminated in a chuckle of disbelief and a slow surprised shake of the head. Stanley liked this kid.

"Guess we're just a couple of lying Jersey boy tramps huh?"

Tony grinned, his round cheeks dimpled when he smiled. Probably not the best trait for his cool 50's Grease aesthetic.

"It sure looks that way, don't it?" he said staring out the windshield.

Stan pulled himself back together. _See Pines not as bad as you thought._ "So, I'm gonna need directions to find this place where your friends are meetin'."

His new friend nodded. "That's cool, I know the way like the back of my hand by now."

"It's a shelter right? Because just as an FYI I don't have the best track record for those kind things. Most of my experience with Shelters are those fire and brimstone places where they lie to get you to go in and they won't let you leave until you do a song and dance for Jesus. Because I wanna be crystal clear here, I would rather drink straight bleach than go through that again."

Tony nodded with an expression of complete understanding.

"Yeah I know the type, Sanctuary's not like that though. Despite the name it's not religious at all. More of a soup kitchen with some beds and stuff. I don't sleep there that often 'cause some of the other guys are bigoted assholes but my friends, well the girls do alright there."

"Alright." said Stan, "I'll take your word for it, kid."

* * *

The Main hall of Sanctuary wasn't much to look at, if anything it reminded Stanley of his high school cafeteria: halogen lights, rows of cafeteria benches with a small buffet section in the far west corner where the food would be served if they were open now.

It looked relatively clean, and not ostentatiously Christian or anything, Stanley considered that a plus. Two flags hung on the entrance-way wall, the Stars and Stripes and another multicolour rainbow flag, not for any country he recognised. Maybe it was a youth group thing?

Stan followed Tony in like a shadow, he made his way over to a bench. In far end of the hall where a girl was already sat, reading. She perked up immensely when she saw Tony coming her way and put away her book. Tony took a seat opposite her and gestured for Stan to take the seat beside him.

'Hey, asshole, who's your friend?" Said the girl, beaming

"Amy, this is Stan he gave me a ride here." Stan waved a greeting.

The girl nodded, accepting this as enough explanation. "Hey, Stan. You got nowhere to go either?"

"Nope, just drifting through tryna get by." He said with a smile, hovering around the table, unsure if he should sit or not.

Eventually he gave up and sat down on the bench, next to Tony.

"Aren't we all?" She laughed. "Oh yeah Tony I got you a present."

She passed him a plastic shopping bag, Tony took it, surprised.

"By got I'm gonna assume you meant stole, right princess?" he said.

The woman smiled smugly. "Don't look a gift horse in the face, dickweed."

Tony ran a hand back through his slick dark hair, he shot Stan a smile.

"Yeah, that's not how that phrase goes, Amethyst." He said sounding tired.

"Don't full name me Anthony. Two can play at that game. Aren't you gonna see what I got for you?"

Tony opened the plastic bag and pulled out a roll of new ace bandages.

His eyes and smile grew huge. "Holy shit, Ames. Thanks!"

"Don't let me hear you bust a rib or anything, dude I'm fucking serious, you be responsible." She glared daggers his way. "I mean, it Tony. Don't hurt yourself."

He waved off her concern with a hand and turned his attention to Stanley.

"Stan, I'm gonna go change my shirt I'll be back in a little while, you okay to be left with Amy here?"

Stanley nodded, uncertain what else he could say. "Uh sure, man. No problem."

Tony got up and walked off out of the main cafeteria part of the hall out of Stan's range of vision.

He turned to the woman, Tony's friend Amy. She was a fit little firecracker of a woman, with dark eyes and skin, and hair in an afro that floated out around her head and shoulders like a low-hanging cloud. She was wearing a deep green tunic top over bell-bottom jeans. She stretched, clicking her neck loudly.

Stan was more than curious about this lot.

"Are those bandages for his hands or what? Is this some kinda fight club? I'm not judging or anything." Stan's voice came out as just above a mumble.

Amy looked a little surprised, she blinked deep brown eyes at him, bemused.

"Uh…. No? This is a _shelter_ , they kick you out if you start shit here."

"Oh, is Tony alright then? He's not hurt?" Stan didn't know what he was missing here. But there was something going on with those bandages, and why did Tony need to change his shirt?

"He's fine, but he might get hurt, if he insists on binding like an idiot. Last time he almost collapsed a fucking lung." Amy pursed her lips like she'd eaten something sour.

"Binding what…his feet?" Stan stammered, thoroughly confused now.

The woman's eyes widened, the corners of her lips flickered like a pulse. She realised he had no clue what she was on about.

"Oh honey, you have no idea…."

Stan let out an awkward snort of laughter. "Evidently."

"Uh look, Tony bought you here and he obviously likes you so I can maybe fill you in later if he Okays it."

"This place we're sitting in is called Sanctuary it's a hostel and shelter for homeless youth eighteen to twenty-five, it's especially for queer kids like me, Tony and the rest of our group. See that older guy in the Hawaiian shirt over there? Salt and Pepper hair?"

He followed where she was pointing the guy in question was talking to one of the chefs in the cafeteria area, a tall Japanese guy in his early sixties.

"Yeah?"

"That's Kenji, he and his partner Peter run the place."

"Queer like strange?" he asked. He thought of Ford and his six-fingers, was that an identifier now? Ford would love that. Black thorny vines curled spikes around his heart. _Fuck what Ford would think._ Stan didn't care about that. _Fuck Ford._

Amy smiled at that, chewing on her chapped bottom lip.

"To you maybe. I don't think I'm much stranger than the next girl." She looked at his face, analysing it reading him for some sign of…something he couldn't place.

Stanley shrugged. "You seem a pretty fine gal to me." He tried schmoozing.

She chuckled. "Why aren't you a charmer? But that's not what I meant."

She shook her head to herself. "Stan, how can I put this…do you like girls?"

"In what context?" he said warily furrowing his brow. _Was she hitting on him?_

"Like as in sex, dating that kind of thing." _Yeah it sounded like she was._

He looked from side to side to see if he was being set up. "Uhh Yeah? Is that a trick question?"

"No, it's a yes or no question." She muttered looking uncomfortable. _Hoo boy Pines, ya still got it._

"Uh yes, then." He said shrugging again.

Amy grinned. "That's cool, I like girls that way too." She picked at a hangnail like it wasn't a big deal.

Stan took a moment to gather what she was saying, and then it hit him like a blow to the forehead.

 _Stanley, ya knucklehead. She's not hitting on you at all._

"Oh that's what queer means..." He said. "That's swell, girls are great."

Amy threw her head back and laughed loud and raucous. "You're precious. You seem like a nice kid."

"Thanks I guess, but I'm twenty-one, that's hardly a kid." He puffed his chest out a little defensive.

"I'm twenty-three and I can play group momma all I like." She said, without a care.

"And so Tony and your other friends are they all queer too?"

"Yes. Mostly. Though if you don't mind me asking honey could you not use that word?"

Stan frowned, confused. "But you just used it I thought-"

"I know and I don't mean to confuse you. Look I don't mind it but say oh I dunno…"

She paused to direct a pointed glance at table across from them, where a card game was taking place, one of the players, a young sandy haired kid not much older than eighteen at was sitting in his boyfriend's lap sporting the ugliest black eye and split lip Stanley had seen in a long time.

Amy turned back to look at Stan, lowering her voice slightly "Let's say you get a fractured orbital bone when some homophobic shitbrick's screeching it at you and the word's likely to make you a little jumpy."

Stan nodded he'd been on the receiving head of slurs before, mostly from high school bullies in a Glass Shard. "Sure I understand, this is all kind new to me. I'm just a no-good Jewish kid from Jersey."

Amy's face relaxed. "If you were really no good, then why would Tony be so friendly to you? He's hardly a mother hen, He's not naïve enough to just pick up random stragglers from the street. We don't have the luxury of that kind of trust here. So trust me, Stan when I say you must be an all right dude."

Another person joined their table, a tall Latina woman, with long glossy dark hair tied back in a ponytail, pink eyeshadow and peach lipstick, she sidled herself up to Amy and pressed a soft peck against her cheek as she was talking, her lipstick showing up pink and shiny against Amy's cool brown skin.

Amy surprised, said something muffled in Spanish. Stan couldn't quite make it out but it sounded like she was asking if someone else had shown. The newcomer shook her beautiful head.

"Rosa, this is Stan a friend of Tony's, Stan this is Rosario, my girlfriend."

"Hey nice to meet ya." Stan said, momentarily stunned by her arrival, she wasn't just tall, Amy's girlfriend looked like she could bench press Stanley in a second.

Rosario smiled and stretched like a panther or some kind of well-coiffed mountain lion.

"You too, Stan. A friend of Tony's is a friend of ours." her voice was very soft and gentle, and she smiled a lot.

"Speaking of the guy where he is. It can't take him this long to change his shirt. Said Stan, looking around the hall to see if he could spot the kid with the greaser style leather jacket

"I saw him over by the bathroom, give him another few minutes before we'll send in the search party." Said Rosario, wiping an eyelash from her face.

"Or the ass kicking, party. If they're picking on our guy." Added Amy, voice hard like diamond.

"Who's they?" asked Stanley.

"I dunno, some of these other fuckfaces, you can't trust everyone who comes in here. Everyone is looking out for number one."

Stan shrugged, his thoughts drawn inward, a flash of his father's face red and veiny, his brother's shadow in his bedroom window, their bedroom window. The cold-veined realisation that no one was coming to his rescue, like some hero from a Hardy Boys novel. The taste of betrayal, hot salt tears and snot. Seventeen years old and alone in the world for the first time since his birth.

"'Fraid that's life, Amy. It's everyone for themselves out here." He said, jaw set, unsmiling.

The woman looked her girlfriend, eyes crumpling up at the corners.

"Not everyone." She said gently.

Stan smiled but it didn't quite reach his, eyes. _It must be nice_ , he thought, rather unworthily, _it must be nice being able to care about someone other than yourself._

"So uh how did you two meet?" He asked quickly, trying to out talk his bitterness.

The women exchanged a knowing look, and both smiled. Rosario shook her head slowly.

"We actually met in the drunk tank at the same time." She said.

"No shit? And they say romance is dead."

Rosario laughed out loud, the noise spluttered out her nose and lips and rolled into the air in waves deep and rich like gospel music.

Stanley felt at ease with these two, life on the road didn't lend well to trusting people but sometimes he got to have moments like this where he felt his broken puzzle piece fit in for once.

"In my defense now, Stan, Amy was the one in the drunk tank, I got dragged in unnecessarily for punching a guy who tried to grab my bag."

Stan chuckled. "You don't have to sanitise your story for me ladies, we've all been there before." He said with a lopsided grin.

"I got released early because a shopkeeper saw him try to take my bag and stood up for me, and as a nice gesture I paid the bail of the charming girl who'd been keeping me distracted with chatter and jokes while we were waiting to get out."

"-and here we still are nearly two years later." Amy reached out and interlocked her fingers with the other woman's. "Still stuck in Shit Lakes, Colorado."

"Modern Fairy tale that." Said Stan with a huge grin. "You could sell it to Disney."

Amy cackled, throwing he head back in laughter again, her hair bobbed around her like cotton candy.

"Stan you're a riot." She said. "But d'you really think Disney would buy a story about lesbians meeting in prison?"

Rosario smiled flashing bright white teeth, she squeezed Amy's hand tighter.

Stanley shrugged a shoulder, "Maybe not, but someone should." he said.

"How did you meet Tony, Stan?" Rosario's voice was so quiet and oaky it seemed a little disconcerting coming from her mouth.

"We both got caught out by the rain outside the library and we got talking then I gave him a ride. Nothing special really, I've only just met him to be honest."

"Tony's a good guy. He's got a pretty good grasp of people." Amy muttered, nodding.

Rosario smiled bright once more. "Yeah he's a star."

"Who's a star?" Piped up Tony, returning to the table at long last with a clean gray t-shirt and no bandages in sight.

"Talkin about you, not to you, shitnugget." Amy drawled not missing a beat.

Stan had to appreciate her creativity in terms of endearment. She reminded him of his Ma.

He shuffled over to make room on the bench for his friend to sit.

"Hey Rosa, your Mrs said you were working tonight."

"I was." She replied softly, ducking her head. "He didn't show."

Stan didn't ask her about what line of work she was in, he'd lived on the road long enough to know that that was a line of questioning best left alone for most people

"So whaddya do around here for fun, then?" he asked instead.

Tony gave a non committal shrug.

"Work, steal, try to get by and sometimes we go to the movies."

Amy laughed. "Ah yes, we have swell times here in Nohomesville"

"The movies?" Stan laughed, shooting a glance at Tony.

"Tony smuggles us in usually." Rosario explained with a little twitch of her shiny lips.

"And What's showing right now?" asked Stan "I haven't been to the movies since I left home."

"I guess we can go find out?" Suggested Tony.

* * *

They headed out into the streets, the movie theatre was only a block or two away so it wasn't that far to walk. It was late afternoon, the sky wasn't darkening yet but it wouldn't be fall air was crisp and cool, Tony pulled his leather jacket around him, Stan didn't seem that bothered by the cold.

Someone across the street yelled, not specifically at them but the others flinched.

Stan sensed Tony and Rosario tense up in front of him,

"Is my shirt ok?" he heard Tony whisper as they passed Tony's coworker manning the ticket stand with a wave and a thumbs up.

The movie theatre interior reminded him Stan of one in Glass Shard: Art Noveau architecture and lashings of red velveteen.

He knew small towns had similar features but this place was almost spookily the same.

"Yeah, you're flat, it's fine. Is this lipstick too much?" Rosario whispered back Stan was not following their conversation with much attention.

"You look nice, Rosa." Said Tony smiling, looking like a smooth talker from a 50s high school movie.

His friend furrowed her brows. "Nice is well and good but-"

"You're passing fine, honey." He said before she could finish. She nodded gratefully.

Stan scratched his nose, feeling out of the loop, "Wait, what are we passing?" He looked around confused.

Amy laughed, looking nervous. She reached out and grabbed Rosario's hand and held on tightly.

Tony and Rosario exchanged a pointed look. "Can I tell him?" he asked.

She nodded, voice still wispy and gentle. "Of course, I don't mind."

"Stan, about the bandage thing before." Tony started as they headed up the stairs towards where the theatre entrance was.

"Oh yeah I was wondering about that? Are you okay, dude?"

"I'm fine, thanks. Do you know what the term transgender means?"

"I know what gender means..."

"Well someone whose trans, was born in a body society would normal associate with the opposite gender." Said Tony, attention on where he was stepping on the faded, soda-stained carpet.

"Right?"Stan did not know where this was going.

"I'm transgender, Stan. So is Rosario. I was assigned female at birth, she was assigned male."

He saw Amy ball her hands to fists. Pre-emptively.

"Oh, Okay." He said, he glanced up and down at Tony quickly before he even thought it might be rude to do so. "What about the bandages?'

"They were for my chest. You know to flatten it."

The metaphorical lightbulb popped up above Stanley's head. That explains it.

"Oh. Ohhhh. Right." he said. "I get it."

"Okay?" said Tony, pausing mid stride. "We good?"

Stan nodded. "Yeah, we're peachy. Is that why people were picking on you though? I could have a word with them if they're giving you trouble, I used to box y'know."

Tony let out a deep chuckle. "It's fine, Stan but thank you for the offer."

"You're a sweet guy, Stan." Breathed Rosario, her voice tiny and soft.

"I'm just a guy." Stan insisted as they headed into the theatre. "I'm just a boring old regular guy."

She shook her head, but in the darkness of the theatre no one could see.

They took a line of four seats together near the back, and for a little while Stan got to pretend he was just like any other kid his age.

* * *

The movie was good, a Wild West comedy not what he usually went in for but Stan enjoyed it.

It reminded him of his favourite movie, Grandpa the Kid and the night he'd met Carla, Oh Carla.

Another light from his life that was gone forever.

It was dark outside when the left the theatre, Stan was dying for a cigarette as they walked their way back to Sanctuary.

Stan had parked his car in a Parking lot near there and hopefully all four of them could get a square meal there before they went their separate ways for the night.

"I'm just gonna pop in here for some smokes." Said Stan gesturing to a newsagents that was still open,

"We'll wait out here for ya." Tony stopped, bathed in the halo of a streetlight. The girls nodded their acknowledgments.

Stan went inside, pocketing a few packs of gum and a candy bar with expert ease.

He paid for his cigarettes with cobbled together change, and stuffed them into the pockets of his jeans as well.

He stopped in the shop entrance hearing shouting, Tony's voice amongst them and some other guy he hand't seen before.

"I don't have any change man, piss off before someone gets hurt!" Tony was saying.

"What are you? Like twelve? You like some ugly little bulldyke?" The man laughed and it was gross little giggle of a laugh. "You know id never hit a lady but I might make an exception for whatever you are."

A big guy, six foot and tattooed was standing over Tony getting up in his space.

Tony, with honeyed Jersey words was trying to deescalate the situation.

"Fuck off, guy. I'm telling ya." He was saying, his eyes wild and furious but also frightened.

"Or you'll what? Sorry if I'm not trembling from the threat of a little girl." Stan balled his hands into fists.

Tony was no girl, and Stanley Pines was not going to stand idly by when some brickhead insulted his friend like this.

Evidently he wasn't alone in these thoughts as Amy lunged out from behind Tony at the new guy growling. Rosario grabbed her by the arm and held her back.

"Oooh!" whistled the guy picking the fight "You're a feisty little Mama, aren't you?"

Stan stepped forward.

"What's happening here?" he said, diverting the bully's attention to himself in the hopes Tony could move himself out of the guy's way.

"Who's this girlie, your boyfriend?" Stan rolled his eyes, Tony stiffened up.

"Shut the fuck up, leave me the fuck alone. I ain't done shit to you." Tony was yelling now, voice rising in pitch with anger.

Stan moved so he was in between the girls and Tony, able to protect both if needed.

He stared down the bully. "There's two of us and only one of you guy, I don't know why you're so cocky."

"Stan stay with the girls!" yelled Tony, grimacing. Stan's fingers curled tighter into fists.

"What you gonna do Joan Travolta? Loverboy over there was coming to the rescue." the guy taunted, a sinister smile paying on his lips.

Tony squared his shoulders and set his jaw. Stan knew the body language well enough.

There was gonna be a scrap. All because this asshole wouldn't leave Tony the fuck alone.

His brain ticked over trying to decide the best course of action. His car was maybe half a block away at the most, if he could get the others there they'd be safe.

"Take my keys," Stan growled in angry trembling Spanish pressing his car keys into Rosario's palm. The keys to his livelihood. The keys to his home.

His head screamed at him, running 100 miles an hour. He clenched his friend's fingers shut around the keys.

 _Oh God,_ he thought, _please don't let my trust be for nothin'_

"Stay safe, get outta here both of you."

"No!" Amy cried angry and vehement.

Stan looked at Rosario begging her to understand "No te preocupas!" He cried finally.

Rosa nodded and dragged her girlfriend by the hand backwards down a nearby alley.

The serious of events that happened next were a jumbled mess of blood, adrenaline and swirling ringing pain.

He remembered a cold hollow series of thoughts, like bullet points in his head.

 _Tony was a good guy, he didn't deserve this._

 _The kinda scum who picked on someone for existing a certain way deserved to get pummeled into the fucking earth._

Stanley was a no good kid, but at least he could try to do some good things, and his Pop wasn't there to stop him.

When he saw the punch fly, he didn't even notice he was moving to put himself in the way.

He was thinking of Crampelter, of the schoolyard bags of shit who'd bullied Ford for his extra was thinking of the photo Tony had dropped earlier of a little blond girl on the beach and the weight of little Shermy, his baby sister in his arms when he held her for the first was thinking of his Ma who'd still been there for him with food and cash and clothing until he finally left the state. He was thinking how Tony deserved the Hardy Boys hero he never got. No one deserved to feel as alone as he had that night.

The first hit got him square on the bridge of his nose he both heard and felt the monstrous crunch at the same time. Boxing Instinct kicked in and Stan swung a punch and brought his knee up quick and hard and kneed his opponent in the balls, the guy aimed another weaker punch that split Stan's lip.

Tony moving in quick to break them up got a swing in and punched the guy in the ear and with all his strength pushed him down and away long enough to grab and drag Stanley out of the way,

He dragged Stan backwards into an alley his arms around his middle, then when they paused, doubled over gasping for breath. Tony panting for air, Stan spluttering bloody spit into a drain.

Tony lifted Stan up supporting his weight and slung one of his arms around his shoulder, helping pull them both up to stand.

"You stubborn, naïve, soft-hearted Jersey fuck." Tony was saying, voice tremulous in Stan's ringing ears.

Stan laughed, but it came out a gurgle.

His friend was breathing hard, blood on his white t-shirt.

"Why'd ya step in front of me, Stan? You don't know me from Adam! Shit, you've known me for a couple of hours at the most!"

"You din't deserve it." He muttered through swelling lips. He could taste blood, a lot of blood, almost like his spit had turned to steel.

Tony sighed, shaking his head. "No but neither did you. This wasn't your fight."

Not able to access his full range of consonants due to a broken and bloody nose and swollen mouth, Stan just shrugged with an exaggerated lift of his shoulder.

"No one should get hit jus' for bein' them." Said Stan, his head spinning. "Rather this ugly mug than you, Tony boy."

"I-I Thanks man. You're a good friend."

Stan nodded, consciousness swimming. Face and brain screaming in pain.

He was a no-good kid but he was a good friend.

"Where are the girls?" Tony was saying, somewhere in between the ringing in his ears that was like fingers on the rim of a wineglass.

"My car." Stanley spat.

"You gave them your car keys?!" he cried incredulous, "Oh for fucks sake, Stan you are either the cleverest or the dumbest son of a bitch I've everhad the pleasure to meet."

He wanted to laugh at that but his mouth was full of blood, and when he tried to smile blood and spit just drooled out his lips.

"C'mon, Stan. Let's get back to the others."

* * *

Stan didn't remember the rest of the walk back to the car. He remembered being in the alley and then sitting on the asphalt with the headlights on his face, while Rosario poured over his nose feeling around. She was evidently the one with some medical training as she was the one pointing fingers and barking orders.

"We need ice and something to numb the pain." She was saying.

Amy opened the driver's door "Stan do you keep any painkillers in here, like Advil, ibuprofen?"

He shook his head. "Whiskey in the back seat."

Rosario shrugged "That'll do, it's an antiseptic too. Tony I need you to get ice."

Tony was starting to panic "Where the fuck do I get ice at this hour looking like an ax murderer?"

Amy smacked him on the back of the head, with the side of her palm.

"You can drive, shitbiscuit. Get us to a gas station and then we can grab more painkillers and shit"

"Stan, would you be okay with that? It's your car."

"Fuckin peachy." He managed out trying to not spit up blood on Rosario because well, Ma Pines had brought him up knowing better than to vomit on a lady.

There was a shuffling game of musical chairs as, four people tried to fit in Stan's crowded pigsty of a car.

Rosario helped him to the passenger seat, telling him to keep his head tipped forward to stop the blood from running down his throat.

She let him take a swig of whiskey first. He was grateful to taste something other than metal.

"You don' need to go to all dis trouble." Stan said, still clutching at his bloody face.

"Man, shut the fuck up." barked Tony, eyes on the road. "We look after our own, even if I have to shoplift you another bottle of whiskey to do it,"

Stan leant his head forward, snickering. He was somebody's "own", even if it was just for the moment, he belonged somewhere.

Filbrick Pines could take his household and his fortune, and stick them up his guilt-tripping, emotionless ass.

"I'm not fucking joking, Stan." Tony said as he pulled into the gas station. "At this point I'd give you the shirt off my back and the bandages off my tit if ya asked, you took a fucking hit for me, man."

Stan shrugged it off, swollen lips smiling.

"He's right Stan." Amy piped up from the back "That's pretty badass."

"I'd say that's what I was thinking, but ta be honest I don't think I was thinking at all when I did it."

Rosario laughed, rich and sweet like molasses. "You were thinking enough to make sense in Spanish."

"What can I say I'm man of many talents?" He tried not to laugh any more his whole face felt hot and numb.

The pain wasn't fading but he felt like he was starting to get used to it a little.

"You're a man of mystery" Said Amy with a chuckle.

"Ooh that's good, can I get that in writing?"

"Hold tight, Mr Mystery, I'll be back with ice and supplies" Tony said as he parked the car.

"Then we better set that nose of yours" said Rosario leaning forward when they came to a stop, belt unbuckled so she could look around the seat at him.

Stan shuddered involuntarily, preemptively feeling the crunch.

"Eugh! Shit. The setting is the worse bit." he muttered.

"But we gotta do it otherwise it heals wrong, and I doubt you can afford a hospital visit at this rate, can you?"

Stan shook his head, gently trying to not shake his nose too much.

"Not for something small like this."

"Do you break your nose on the regular then?" asked Amy.

"Nah, just once when I was a kid."

"Get in another fistfight?"

"Not exactly."

Stan struggled to find a cool way to phrase 'When I was 12, I got hit in the face by the jib of the boat I was fixing because my nerd brother was waxing poetic about explorers instead of watching the wind.'

"Boating accident." He said finally.

He wanted a cigarette but his lips felt fat and heavy.

Amy shivered. "Ow." She said.

Stan shrugged trying to seem cooler than he really was. "I guess."

Tony came back to the car with more whiskey, painkillers. Paper towels and a bag of ice.

"Alright, time to General Hospital this shit, Dr Mendoza." He said passing Rosario the ice.

She chuckled rich and warm like the whiskey on Stan's lips, she got out of the car to come around to the passenger side door.

"Do you want me to come out?" he asked her.

She shook her head, "No I just want you to stay still for a bit, okay? This is gonna sting."

Stanley winced but nodded. _Be brave ya knucklehead_ , he screamed at himself internally.

Rosa took a paper towel and doused it in whiskey from the already open bottle then dabbed at the dried blood on the bridge of his nose both cleaning the wound and removing the blood so she could see better.

"Son of a bitch!" hissed Stan as the pain cut through him. "I thought I was gonna drink the whiskey."

"Sorry." Murmured Rosario gently. "It's an antiseptic, a good one at that. You can have some in a bit once I've set your nose.

"You sound like my Ma" Stan said, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to stare uncomfortably at the woman's face.

"Is that a compliment or an insult?" wondered Amy from the back.

Stan thought of his mother back home in Jersey, her grating voice, her constant lying and all the trouble it cause, how her perfume smelt like a rose garden when he hugged her, how she never gave up on her son even when everyone else had, including Stanley himself.

"It's both." He said.

Opal Pines was a complex woman.

Rosario chuckled. "On the count of three now." she said, voice lilting like music.

Stan took in a slow deep breath of air and started counting.

"ONE, TWO-"

 **CRUNCH.** Stan was hit by a wave of white hot radiating pain sweeping out from his nose.

" _Holy fucking Moses_ , Rosa!" he cursed spluttering.

She smiled, satisfied with her work. "It's set. Keep still for a bit."

"I think he deserves that drink now." Piped up Tony, who was looking rather green around the gills.

Stan reached to take another swig of the whiskey, and he just kept drinking until he didn't have to feel his face anymore.

0o0o0o0o0o0

His memory of the rest of the night was swimming in places, faces and pictures rippling with a cocktail of alcohol and painkillers, he remembered they went back to Sanctuary to get something to eat and Stan felt like he was coming home. The memory cut sharp slicing at the inside of his chest.

This place wasn't home, but it could be.

He awoke the next morning safe in the backseat of his car, with a killer headache and the inside of his nose feeling like it was riddled with broken glass.

However bad he felt though, it somewhat subsided when he remembered the events of the night before, and he saw the yellow post-it note Amy had stuck to the back window.

 _Hey Stan,_

 _We locked the car from the inside when we brought you back._

 _Your keys are in the glove box with the rest of the Advil._

 _Thank you again, for looking out for Tony and us. Hope your nose feels better tomorrow._

 _See you around maybe?_

 _Amy & Rosa xoxo_

Underneath the note in the corner Rosa had doodled a cartoon Stan punching a popeye-like bully with huge muscles while cartoon versions Tony, Amy and Rosario looked on and cheered.

'Our hero' she'd written in purple pen with a pretty cursive hand.

Stanley Franklin Pines lay his head back down on the car seat and smiled staring at the note.

Stanley Franklin Pines wasn't quite alone in the world.

Stanley Franklin Pines was a hero.


	9. Age 17: The Five of Cups

**A/N:** Sorry for the length in between updates life got in the way. The chapter title says 17 and in the first draft Shermy was 17 in this and it was the winter holidays (in ATOTS it's snowing when Ford and Stanley meet up wtf is with that if it's July 4th) but since I set the date of Ford's disappearance as July the 4th as is more or less canon, it meant adjusting the dates in this. Shermy's birthday is the 18th of August and the day of Stanley's accident was listed as the 26th of July she is not quite 17 here but we have enough chapters of 16yo Sherm as is. I swear the timeline of this show is so unreliable.

Filbrick Pines is a very complex character in my head but I have less desire to show that here, so if it seems he's an abusive dick that's because... he is an abusive dick and he may have his own rationale but seriously kicking out your kid isn't okay and I decided I didn't want to explain away his behaviour with excuses in this because he's an easily real character without them.

oo0o0oo0oo

 _26th July 1987_

There was motor oil in her hair, all over her clothes. Despite her best efforts there was even a little motor oil on the baby, just above his eyebrow, he didn't care. He didn't care about anything, he was close to sleeping. Isaac needed noise to sleep and he was quite happy to listen to her muck about, soft body resting against her chest, her free arm supporting him. She set the wrench down on the ground beside her bike and wiped the oil across her forehead.

"How we doing little guy?" she asked, softly.

Isaac clenched a tiny death grip around her finger, a bubble of spit blowing on his lips. His eyes were closing slowly, steady breath carrying him off to sleep.

"Yeah I know the feeling." She said to her sleeping son and the garage packed with boxes of her brother's old stuff. Her voice reverbed slightly off the various surfaces, it bounced of her bike and the workbench.

"Come on then, bud. Let's go upstairs to put you to bed."

Isaac didn't answer, he was three and a half months old, and by his understanding everything could be bed if he tried hard enough.

Sherm wiped the Oil off his head with spit and the fabric of her t-shirt.

She carried him upstairs humming to him the first thing to pop into her head, a guitar riff from some catchy Bowie song that she'd had on in the garage while she was screwing around with her bike.

She made her way upstairs through into the living/dining room, Julie had invited her to a friend's apartment " to just hang out catch up and talk about life you know" She hadn't known Julie all that long they been dating for almost a month, and wondered if that was just some kind of code for weed.

Shermy didn't really have any time for that these days, she was exhausted she just wanted to see the cute girl she was dating and get to spend time together as a person not a human appendage attached to a baby.

She wanted to be herself for a bit. She probably could do with a shower first and check there was enough expressed milk left in the fridge to tide Isaac over until this evening.

Her mother was talking to someone in hushed tones, a friend on the phone? Her father? A reading?

Sherm thought nothing of it and went into her room to put Isaac down.

They'd finally got rid of her brothers' old bunk beds and moved around most of the furniture so Shermy could fit in a new single bed, her old crib and a changing table. The desk still stayed put, now filled with baby gear as well as boxes of Stanford's old school trophies and the like.

She set her son down in his crib, Isaac kicked his legs for a bit but was almost entirely asleep already. Shermy wiped the leftover traces of motor oil from his forehead with a wet wipe. She wiped the excess from her hands as well and turned on the baby monitor. Before she left she pressed a kiss to her son's soft slightly damp forehead.

"Sleep well, little man." She whispered on her way out the door.

She wandered into the main room, mentally tossing up if she should eat before she went out, but her thoughts were interrupted by the muffled sound of crying.

She stopped, looking at her mother, standing with her back to her, head bowed.

"Ma?" There came no answer, just more sniffling.

Shermy made a fist with her hand, something was wrong. Her mother made a big deal out of trying to not cry in front of her daughter.

She tried asking again. "Ma, is everything okay?"

Opal Pines turned around, her eyes heavy and lidded, dregs of mascara and eyeliner leaving butterfly kisses under her eyes.

She looked at her daughter like she was the sun, her happiness, her little Shermy,

"Do you know what day it is today, bubba?" she asked, in a voice mixed with tears.

Sherm closed her arms across her chest for comfort and strained her head to think. It was the summer holidays, she wasn't exactly paying attention to the date.

"Um. Monday?" She said stealing a glance at the calendar, "Monday the 26th of July?"

"It's the Jahrzeit, Shermy, it's your brother's Jahrzeit." Her mother looked so old, her face lined and stained with tears holding a white candle in her hands.

"Oh my g- Mom, I'm so sorry. It completely escaped me."

"That's alright, honey, you've had a lot on your plate. I didn't light it last night because your father was around and I know he doesn't want to be there for this. Is Isaac asleep?"

Shermy nodded without a word.

"Do you want to help me?" Opal sounded near to begging.

"Of course, Ma. I'll clear a space on the windowsill"

"I've already done that, we just need to light it."

"We'll do it together, then."

"Thank you, my darlin'." She sniffled again, pressing a kiss to Shermy's soft brown hair.

"My darling little girl."

"Not so little anymore." replied Shermy.

Opal smiled, a little bit of it even reached her eyes.

"No, that's true." She said.

They moved over the living room window that faced out onto the street. Opal had set up her own mother's silver filigree holder they used to hold Jahrzeit candles.

She gave Shermy the matches as her own hands were trembling too much to light.

Shermy struck the match and held it out for them to hold together. They lit the candle. Shermy extinguished the match. The room was quiet, reverent even.

She thought of Stanley, her big brother she hardly got to know. Her throat hurt, she felt so conflicted. She didn't feel all that attached to him, but at the same time she felt his absence every day.

"How's it been five years without him Shermy?" her mother's voice cracked.

"I don't know, Mom. I don't know." She wrapped her arms around her mother's bony waist and hugged her close. She smelt like incense and rose water. Opal pines hugged her daughter back with all her strength.

"I just keep hoping one of these days, I'm gonna call out and both my baby boys are gonna come upstairs for dinner." She mumbled into her daughter's shoulder.

At almost seventeen Shermy was noticeably taller than her, though still tiny compared to her father and brothers.

"Oh _Ma_. I do too."

"Five whole years, _bubbele_."

I know. It feels even longer to me. It was more like seventeen years to me. I never knew Stanley.

This was probably the wrong thing to say as her mother burst into fresh tears.

"He's never gonna get to meet his nephew. You were already denied a brother, now Izzy is without an uncle."

"I know, Ma. Come on now, si'down at the table." She guided her mother to the living room table.

"You gots something black on your face, darl."

"It's motor oil. I was fixing up my bike so I can go out later. You're still okay to look after Isaac, right? I mean I can cancel if you're not feeling up to it."

"No, Shermy honey. I can manage looking after my own grandson, I'm not working this afternoon neither. So you can have a nice time with your little friends. You've been working too hard lately, what with all your schoolwork catch up and the baby."

"Is Dad downstairs?"

"No he's gone down the pier."

"Oh." The pier had slot machines, the pier had shitty smoky bars that catered to fishermen and the bad kind of tourist. Her father was spending more and more time there these days and time, as he always said, was money.

Opal squeezed her daughter's hand. "It's hard on him too, honey."

"Yeah, I guess." Shermy wasn't sure if that fact was she didn't believer her mother or if it was she just couldn't care about how her Pop was feeling about all of this. _He's made his bed,_ snarled an uncharitable thought, _now he's got the rest of his life to lie in it._

 _That's more than he ever gave Stanley._

o0o0oo0o0o0

She'd just wanted to get out of the house for a bit. Hang out with Julie and her weird arty friends. It was the summer holidays, and the temperature outside was in the low nineties. She was going stir crazy stuck at home but there weren't many of her old hang out spots that were kid friendly.

She just needed to get out and do something. She needed to felt almost seventeen again.

She called Julie before she left and got her friend's address from her, then pulled her bike out of the garage.

"Ma, are you sure that you'll be fine without me?" She said heading back into the house and getting her bag together.

Opa; waved a dismissive hand. "I'll survive, honey. Are there bottles in the fridge?"

Shermy nodded. "Yeah should be plenty,"

"You won't be too late home will you?"

"No, Mom I'll try to be home before nightfall."

"Thanks, darl. You're too good to me, Shermy."

"Don't get all schmaltzy, Ma. You're my _mother_ , you literally brought me into the world. Don't act like you don't deserve a kid who respects you just because Ford's got his head stuck far up his own ass and poor Stanley's not around no more."

"Be nice to your brother. He was good to you when you needed him.

"Yeah, he was and I'm grateful but I haven't heard from him since Isaac was born. Ford promised when we saw him off he'd keep in touch and it's been months now. I mean a phone call now and then wouldn't kill him, Ma."

He probably just doesn't have the time, bubby."

Her daughter frowned. "Then he should make the time."

Sherm let's just drop the subject, okay? I'm tired and it's a day of remembrance, yeah? We should be thinking about our Stanley.

"I don't have any memories of him, Moms. I wish I did."

Opal sighed again, shaking her dark head. "I know honey, I know. Go have a nice time with your friends. Don't let this old crone keep you here any longer.

"Give Izzy a kiss from me, _Bubbe_." Shermy said, brushing out her hair. She disappeared back into her room and changed the t-shirt she'd slept in into a light blouse with tiny blue flowers printed on it, she pulled on some slacks, they were a little hot for this weather but if she was riding her bike it paid to be protected..

She hadn't had a chance to have a shower so she fussed a bit with makeup and earrings, making herself presentable enough that her face and clothes didn't scream "I am a sleep deprived single mother with no friends."

The current trend of big hair was working to her advantage that day as the humidity made her hair frizz and splay out all over the place, frustrated she tied it back in a ponytail.

0o0o0o0o0oo

Julie's friends lived on the other side of Glass Shard Beach, away from the waterfront, in a tiny little two-story apartment block, not far from the high school. Shermy arrived a little after four. Julie was waiting for her in the front doorstep, she greeted her with a soft peck on the lips and showed her in up the stairs and into the living room. Three others sat sprawled over the armchairs, one girl sat with a spread of coloured cards stretched out over the floor.

"Hey guys this is Shermy." Julie said her hand hovering gesturing in the air. The three strangers made "Shermy this is Lorraine, Kurt, Clara and Benji is around somewhere.

"He's gone to buy smokes" Said one of the girls who Shermy thought she recognised from Temple, Lorraine, Shermy thought that was what Jules said her name was. She was in Shermy's year at high school too. The others were noticeably older, Kurt and Clara were both at their first year of college with Jules.

"Hey" she said with an awkward little wave. She didn't know what else to say and she wanted to play it cool. She clenched a vice grip on Julie's hand for strength.

"Shermy, is it?" Asked the other woman with the dyed red curly hair. Clara she deduced. She had warm bronze skin and thick dark eyebrows, one of which was pierced and decorated with a small golden ball. "Cute name."

Shermy chuckled. "It's short for Shermaine which is less cute, makes me sound like a tank." she scrunched up the bridge of her nose. She hated her full name.

The first girl, - it was Lorraine wasn't it? - laughed at that.

"You're a little dainty to be named for a tank."

"She's small but deadly." Quipped Julie taking a seat on a floral patterned sofa in Lorraine and Clara's living room.

Shermy hovered around for a bit before sitting now next to her.

"Is she the one with a kid?" the guy asked. Shermy swallowed a sigh.

Ah, her reputation preceded her.

In the corner of her eyes she saw Julie open her mouth ready to defend her.

Shermy squeezed her hand to indicate it was okay.

"Yeah that's me, I am that beacon of sin" she deadpanned.

The guy, Kurt laughed at that "I like her." He announced to Julie.

Julie laughed warm and surprised, her thumb brushed across the heartline of Shermy's palm.

Comfort. Affection. Approval.

She glanced over Sherm's face, fondness reflecting out her eyes like a rainbows from a prism.

"Yeah, she's okay I guess." She joked.

Sherm stuck her tongue out at her, like she was a sarcastic child. But inside she was squealing at the flattery.

Her toes crinkled up in her boots, head spinning like a lovesick teen.

Well, technically speaking she really was a lovesick teen. She was a teen and she was in love.

"Is that your bike?" asked Kurt looking impressed.

"Yeah, I fixed her up myself this morning while I was waiting for my son to settle." She said.

"It's a beautiful bike." He said, staring out the window at where she'd parked.

"How old is your baby?" asked Clara, out of politeness and curiosity Shermy suspected rather than anything negative.

Julie made a face "Come on guys don't bother her about the kid, she's here to have fun."

"Three months. He's safe at home with my Mom right now. It's fine."

Lorraine quite helpfully changed the subject.

"Hey Shermy, Clara was just reading everyone's tarot, you should let her do you. "

"Tarot, huh?" Her mother's aging face came to mind again.

Her from that morning with shaking hands lighting a candle for Stanley. Her gut tied itself in a knot She buried It.

"Yep," Clara smiled, "It's just a bit of fun, do you want a reading?"

Shermy glanced at Julie, who winked.

"It can't hurt" she said smiling.

"Lori, where did you put that wine?" asked Julie.

The dark haired girl looked up at her name.

"Uh, right. It's just on the door of the fridge, Jules."

Shermy turned her attention to Clara.

"Okay, now what kind of reading do you want?"

She shrugged her shoulders, feeling exposed left with these strangers without Julie nearby.

"To be completely honest I have no idea."

"I'll just use the Major Arcana to give me more of an idea of the important figures or themes in your life right now. Just a line, not a French cross or anything fancy."

Shermy shrugged once more, now feeling she should have paid more attention to her mother's tarot readings.

"Okay. Sure." She said, just wanting to be included really.

"I hope I shuffled it properly, you don't have get those two appearing together here almost like a pair."

"I didn't think there were any pairs in the Major Arcana," Said Shermy. "I mean there aren't any suits."

"No, true. But it's not often you get the Fool and the Magician side by side. Often the archetype cards refer to a person."

"The Fool and the Magician, huh" _Oh, god._ Oh great, just who she needed to be thinking about.

The fool represents new beginnings and journeys he is an encouragement to reach your full potential. When referring to a person he represents a free spirit. Someone who doesn't adhere to rules and loves blindly with an almost childish naivety. On the flip side he can represent recklessness, naivety and rushing in to big things."

 _"My little free spirit, my baby boy. Once I held him in my arms like you hold Isaac._

 _He was the happiest little boy, bubby. A real Luftmensh, never let anyone else tell him how to think._

 _I loved him so much for that. Oh God, Shermy. I loved them both so much."_

"Well as much I want to be a cool don't-play-be-the-rules kinda girl I fear I'm far too much of a pessimist for that to be me!" Shermy joked, she buried the memories and the feelings for later. She had to at least pretend to be normal here. She had to fit in.

The others chuckled, Julie returned from the kitchen with plastic cups and a very cheap-looking bottle of pink wine which she raised up to the group like she was bestowing an offering. Lorraine and Kurt cheered. Shermy took the red cup when her girlfriend offered it. The wine was disgustingly sweet to her pallet, she sipped at it slowly, not wanting to drink much while she was still breastfeeding.

"It could be someone else." Said Clara, watching this with a small smile.

Her voice was very evocative. Her laugh ebbed from her lips rich, warm and coppery.

Something in her accent reminded Shermy of her father, of his room in the back of the store that smelt of cigar smoke and wood polish.

She pushed that memory to the side also.

"My brothers' birthday is April Fools' Day, I don't know if that has any connection."

"The interpretation of these things is mostly up to you. The way I use it is more like a mirror or like meditation. If you find a meaningful connection between the card and your life than as far as I'm concerned that's a valid interpretation. Perhaps when I continue the reading it'll make more sense..."

She shifted her attention to the next card, depicting a man in red and white robes holding a wand aloft above his head was the sign for infinity, on his desk sat a cup, a pentacle and a sword. Representing the four suits of the minor arcana and the four elements.

"The magician however represents good planning and skill, knowledge and resourcefulness, quite the opposite to the Fool, which is interesting that they arose together, like ying and yang.

"That's definitely my other brother that one" she said "He's a physicist, he was a doctor by twenty-four. He won a bunch of scholarships and stuff."

"Ooh, a doctor?" said Lorraine wincing with all the wisdom of a child born to similarly overbearing Jewish parents "Tough act to follow that one." She added, with sympathy in her voice.

o0o0o0o0o0oo

 _"A writer?" Filbrick's moustache curled up in disgust he glanced between the essay he held in his hand to his wife who crossed her arms and frowned at him and his daughter whose glowing smile of accomplishment was quickly dying on her lips._

 _"Fil! She's fourteen, for pete's sakes, leave her alone. You should be proud of her. Our little Shermy published in the paper,"_

 _"No Opal, I'm going to nip this thing in the bud now. Look here girl, your mother and I don't work our asses to the bone for you to turn out some airy-fairy artist type who lives from cheque to cheque, that doesn't pay the bills, kid. Writin' doesn't look after your parents when they're old!"_

 _"Writing isn't just for authors, Dad. Mrs Carson thinks I should look into studying Journalism at college. She even put my name forward to write a regular column in the school paper."_

 _Opal nodded enthusiastically, "Exactly! a journalist in the family at this young? You should be more proud of your daughter, Fil."_

 _Stanford I'm proud of, you should try and be more like him. Try your hand at some science._

 _I'm not him, though am I? I'm the other kid you didn't want. The afterthought._

 _Shermaine, don't speak to your father in that tone._

 _"Why, Ma? I'll never live up to Ford in his eyes, why should I give a shit what he thinks about me?"_

 _"watch your language!" Her mother's voice came out shrill and grating._

 _Filbrick scowled, brown eyes peered over his glasses, full of disapproval._

 _"Don't get short with me, girl." He snarled, a fat finger pointed to the door. "Go to your room!"_

 _She snatched the essay out of her father's hands and hugged it close to her chest, stomping down the hall she wondered, in her misery, why her family had to taint everything she loved._

 _"Fine! I'll just be in my room then, pretendin' I wasn't born, since that's evidently what you want."_

0o0o0o0o0o0o

Shermy shrugged, moving to make space beside her on the sofa for Julie.

"Yeah they love Stanford, big time. I don't have to hear about it as much, these days, because now he's too busy to come visit." She let slip a self-depreciating laugh, snuggling up against her girlfriend. "At least I get in their good books by having grandchildren, never mind how precocious I was about it."

Julie snorted into her cup.

"That's certainly one way of looking at it." She said. "Hey where's Benji at, anyway?"

"He should be here soonish." Said Kurt across the room where he was draped across a garish flowery armchair. "He'd better be, I'm dying here."

"Oh you poor baby, what not getting enough attention over there?" Julie oozed, teasingly.

"I'm wilting before my time, Juliet. I'm like a rare but beautiful Orchid."

"Yeah yeah and you need boys and cigarettes instead of water to live. And don't call me Juliet."

"Darling, you wound me!" Kurt clutched at his chest as if she had stabbed him.

Clara rolled her eyes and grinned looking at Shermy. "Should we continue?"

"Ah sure, what's the next card?" she asked.

"The last three cards are reversed, the first reversed card is the world."

"I predict that means she's gonna flip her shit." Shouted Kurt.

Julie rolled her was a lame joke but Shermy giggled keen to fit in.

"Heyy Lorraine, Lori, Loribeth." Kurt's voice echoed inside his red plastic cup.

Lorraine flipped him off.

"Shut up, Kurt. Whatever you're gonna say. Shut it."

They had an interesting bantery relationship these two, Shermy noted, they could almost have been siblings.

"Are you gonna go for Guys and Dolls with me?" Kurt asked, well begged might have been a more fitting term.

Lorraine snorted "No way, Josè. You know I don't do musicals."

"Aw come on, you can't let me audition all on my lonesome."

"Watch me." Lorraine grinned leaning back against her armchair.

"Aw, baby-cakes, sugar mouse."

"Fuck off, I'm not auditioning for that tacky shit."

"Jules? Clarabelle?" Kurt glanced around looking for backup.

"Nope" Julie shook her head.

"I can't, Kurt. I've got a huge piano recital in like two weeks."

Julie snorted underneath her "Hey Shermy, ya any good at singing?"

"Don't listen to him, babe."

"I'm great at many things, she joked, but singing is not one of them. Believe me Kurt, you don't wanna hear these pipes."

"Fine, I'll audition by myself." he whined.

"Oh boo fucking hoo." Muttered Lorraine smirking, she tucked strands of dark curly hair behind her ears and sipped her wine.

"Cry us a river, Kurt." Added Julie, stroking Sherm's head in her lap.

"You wanna finish this reading?" asked Clara, glancing at Shermy not sure if they were continuing.

"Sure." Said Shermy, propping herself up on an elbow. "The world reversed, doesn't sound like a good thing though."

Clara smiled. "It's not exactly bad but it's not great either from what I can tell, I need to read up on its reverse meaning though. The world when upright represents wholeness, completion. Something or someone who has reach their completion of a relationship or an event."

Shermy paused, thinking. "So the opposite of that is something unfinished. Or something that should be finished but isn't?" she said.

Clara nodded, her gold eyebrow piercing glinted in the light. "More like a need for closure, but yes."

0o0o0o0o

 _Her mother sat at the table in the living room staring at the flickering candle light through fresh tears that spilled unceremoniously down her cheeks._

 _"The last time I saw Stanley alive he was almost nineteen. He was twenty nine when he died. That's ten years gap, ten years without my baby boy in my life and then the next time I see him is to put him in the dirt. It's not right, Shermy. It's not fair." Opal Pines, stared at the wood of the tabletop, looking defeated._

 _Her daughter took both her hands in her own and said nothing, because there was nothing she could say. Life wasn't fair, and they knew that._

 _0o0o0o_

"I know what that card refers to". Shermy said, her face purposely devoid of emotion, she squeezed Julie's hand idly. "Next card please."

Clara nodded. The next card is a person, well it usually means a person The Hermit reversed.

Shermy grinned, "Oh Jules, finally one that sounds like me!"

The others laughed, Clara's berry-coloured lips curled upwards in a smile.

"You're hardly a hermit, babe, you're here now aren't you?"

"Yeah well, having a kid will isolate even the most social extrovert."

"That might be what this card refers to, I'm not sure. But when reversed the hermit means isolation, and either a lack of personal reflection or too much inward thinking.

Shermy thought about this, Julie was right she wasn't that isolated socially, after all she did manage to get a girlfriend while still looking after an infant, not many people could say that.

Maybe this card was meant for somebody else, but who?

Ford was definitely a literal hermit but that was nothing new, and in fact the Ford that she met in Oregon seemed more outgoing than the nerdy kid she remember growing up, Ford was running a business, putting himself out there.

This was someone else in her family, Ford and Stanley's cards had already surfaced. One of her parents then?

Opal Pines. The hollow-eyed and shrunken woman she left in charge of Isaac this afternoon, she wasn't the same big-talking, dramatic, personable liar her mother was when she was younger. In fact Shermy hadn't noticed a single lie pass her mother's lips all day. Was this the result of too much thinking or not enough?

0o0o0o0o0o

 _"Are you gonna be okay, Ma?"_

 _"Oy Sherm, I'm not gonna be okay if you keep asking me. Yes, I can manage while you're out have some faith in me, honey._

 _I don't just mean while I'm out, Mom._

 _"Oh. That's…Uh well. That's a harder question to answer."_

 _Shermy smiled, a little sad. "It's more or less the same question, just a different context."_

 _"-And what a context that is: my son has been dead five years today. I can't just put a hat and feather boa on that and pretend it ain't happening. I've tried. Some things don't erase so easy. I've tried to outrun this, but he's my son Shermy my own son, and I denied him the most basic human rights. How can I be okay knowing what I did? And what for? To appease your father? Was it out of anger? Sure I was mad at him for jeopardising Stanford's happiness, I mean I was furious! I thought that Filbrick was right and one night on the street would scare him, make him think about his mistakes. I never meant to lose him forever, but your father…" Opal closed her eyes tight and her voice trailed off clenching her hands into fists. Her knuckles shone white through olive skin._

 _Opal Pines chewed her lip and sighed. "I'm sorry, Shermy. I'm a terrible mother, ain't I?"_

 _Shermy had shook her head no, without a word._

 _"You're just a mother. My mother." She said finally. "I'm a mother too now, it's no longer my place to pass judgement. We just are."_

0o0o0o0o

The final card left showed a white bearded king on a white throne, dressed in armour and red robes a sceptre in one hand, a fierce expression on his face.

"This is the emperor, in upright position he represents structure and a father figure, routine and regularity. In reverse, which you drew him. He represents a dictator, someone who uses takes the next for structure to far into authoritarian power-hungry territory. "

Shermy laughed, she threw her head back and cackled like a witch. The others watched her uncertain as to what was so funny. She didn't have the words or the energy to explain the irony of that card to them.

"Even I know who that card is and I've only met him once." Said Julie squeezing her girlfriend's ac, on one of their early dates Jules had walked her home from the beach and dropped her off outside Pines' Pawns where Filbrick had snapped at his daughter for blocking the doorway.

Filbrick Pines provided structure the same way a hurricane provided ventilation. It worked, but at what cost? Having one parent who was truthful to the point of cruelty and the other lying out her ass at all times was not exactly a conducive environment for a little girl to grow up in, but Shermaine Pines soaked up her parents quirks and foibles like a sponge and came out of adolescence knowing how to fight, how to lie and how to wield the truth like a flaming sword leaving people trembling in your wake. Life in the Pines Household was a game of survival of the fittest and make no mistake, Shermy was going to fucking _win._

o0o0o0o0o

"I better go home, Jules." Sherm said into the other woman's neck.

It was later in the evening now and the shadows were growing long. The other friend, the prodigal Benji had returned as promised with the cigarettes, and he lay in Kurt's lap smoking while the others curled up around Lori and Clara's tiny tv set watching _West Side Story_ on VHS.

Julie furrowed her brow and curled her arms tighter around Shermy's waist, she glanced at the wall clock.

"It's only just gone six, are you not having fun?"

Shermy shook her head, defensive. "I am! I just need to make a stop somewhere on the way home, is all."

"Aww, can't you wait another hour?"

"No it has to be before sundown."

"What, did your folks give you a curfew or something?

"Not exactly." Shermy didn't meet her girlfriend's eyes.

"Then what's so important?"

"It's no big deal, I just have to visit my brother's grave." She said it in the same blasé singsong tone of voice as she'd been talking in.

If she made it a joke maybe she wouldn't make a scene or feel sorry for her. She didn't know.

Sometimes she felt she was just hopeless at speaking to other girls.

Julie's teasing face dissolved instantly.

"What?" she said turning ashen.

"Everything hunky-dory over there, lovebirds?" Said Benji from across the room.

Shermy gave him a thumbs up.

"Jules it's fine. I didn't want to bring the mood down. But it's the anniversary today and I oughta visit him. I want to, even.

"I thought you said your brother lived in Oregon?

"Yeah, That's Ford. Stanley was his twin."

Julie paled even more, she was the youngest of four and she was very close to her brother, Samson. No doubt she was thinking of him.

"Oh god, oh shit. Sherm, you should have said something." she whispered stroking a thumb across Shermy's cheek.

"No, honestly its fine. I wouldn't even have remembered if my Ma hadn't said something. It's just its five years ago today"

"Do you want me to come with you? Is that- is that allowed?"

"Sure it is, but you don't have to come. Stay here with your friends and get a ride home later with Kurt." Shermy propped herself upright, keeping her voice low as not to block out the movie.

"I know but I feel bad letting you go off by yourself on the way home especially with all this."

Shermy smiled, grateful. "It's up to you, Jules. I can manage fine."

Julie kissed her, one feathery press of lips against lips and then a quick peck on her nose.

"I know you can manage, babe, but you shouldn't have to."

"Thanks, Jules. It's good of you to offer, but I think I should go alone, clear my head a bit."

"Of course, Sherm. You will call me, though? When you get home?"

She nodded, "Of Course I will."

0o0o0o0o0

The Cemetery was as calm and as peaceful as she remembered it being, she came here time time every year and it never felt anything but serene here with the manicured flowered and the tree lined walkway, the rows of raised marble headstones and the sound of cicadas in the trees above.

She came to a stop in front of one headstone in particular, and she slowed to a stop, her throat closing already.

The breeze shifted the longer patches of grass brushing around her ankles. There wasn't another soul in sight.

"Hey Stanley, It's just me, don't get up." She chuckled at her own lame joke, turning over a smooth pebble in her hands. "'nother year, huh?"

Her brother didn't answer.

"It's been a crazy one too. I don't know if you this, but you're an uncle now. I have a little boy. Name's Isaac. Isaac Stan Pines. I named him for both of you. He's nearly four months old, mom's looking after him at home. She misses you a lot. She lit your candle this morning, so if you or any part of you is anywhere I hope it's at home with her."

She rolled the sleeves of her blouse up a bit, uncomfortable. She picked some leaves off her borther's grave.

"Uh, what else, I've been to see Ford. Its several months passed now. I don't know if he's okay or not, it's hard to tell. I think he blames himself for you not being here. I don't know if you know that, or if you can see us. Mom pretends she believes in spirits and stuff but if she really did she wouldn't be so devastated or so lonely.

Ma's well, health-wise anyway. I worry about her a lot though. She seems to drown anything resembling a problem in lies and gin.

I know she still loves Pop, I mean they're still living together aren't they? Though while I can't see them splitting up, I don't think she will ever truly forgive him for what he did to you. I don't think Ford will either, he's so different now. I can't detect any trace of the nerdy quiet guy he used to be."

She took a slow deep breath in, her chest aching.

"Things have changed so much, Stanley." Her voice cracked, "I don't know how to keep up with everything, one moment I'm a mother I'm responsible for Isaac's safety and well-being and then the next minute I get to act my age with my girlfriend and her friends and now I'm here staring death in the face."

Shermy shook her head to herself.

"I'm seventeen in two weeks, Stanley. I'll be the age you were when they kicked you out and I know nothing about life in the real world.

I'm like a baby in a trench coat. I don't know how you managed to get by because right now I feel like I'm playing house with life or death consequences and I hate it.

I dunno what else to tell ya, brother. I'm doing high school correspondence until I can catch up with the work I missed, I should be able to graduate next year.

Mom said you did the same thing, I didn't know you'd finished high school. Mind you I guess I don't really know that much about you."

She squeezed the stone with all her might. "I miss you, though. I do miss ya Stanley. Everyday."

She stumbled her way through a whispered Kiddush, and left the stone, warm now from the heat of her living hands, resting on top her brother's tombstone.

The breeze that rustled the trees lining the cemetery was warm and smelled sweet, like honeysuckles. As she headed down the cemetery pathway to back to the parking lot, the wind cooled the droplets that ran down her cheeks.

Shermy wiped at her tears enough for her to see. Then she re-tied her ponytail, put her helmet back on and climbed on to her bike, the engine revving.

The summer air was sweet but mild. Her son and her parents needed her back at home tonight.

It was still light out but above her in the clear blue sky she could see the faint ghosts of stars, at a guess she placed them as part of Ursa Major, but there weren't enough stars visible in this light for her to find Polaris.

But it didn't matter, she needed no directions north.

There was a white candle burning in the window of Pines' Pawns, guiding her home.


	10. Age 14: The Essay

_A/N:_ Sorry again for the hiatus guys, I feel shitty about it! This chapter is kinda short and sweet, it's the middle of an exam week for me so I'm kind of stressed out, but i'm taking a break from academic stuff to edit and post essay was surprisingly difficult to write since I haven't done creative writing essay for school for at least five years and I wanted it to sound age and style appropriate for a 14 yo girl. Shermy is interesting as a kiddo she's not really found her footing in the word, so she's kind of conflicting in personality she's a lot like both of her brothers but she's also quite separate from them too. Idk she's my favourite non-canon character to write.

I referred to this chapter in a flashback in chapter 9, with Filbrick's react to Shermy's essay. Filbrick doesn't know how to react in a positive way really I feel like his own parents were probably very distant themselves, especially as the timeline means Fil would have been of fighting age to be in WW2, I head-canon in this he was injured as in the war as a young man and due to chemical damage to his eyes he wears sunglasses all the time (not a fan of the Bill parallels theory at all, but hey). He's still a dick to his kids and wife though. As for Opal, well I really love Mama Pines she deserved so much better than she got and this fic doesn't make things easier on her, poor woman.

It couldn't have come at a better time.

Mr Tadbolt had picked on her to answer a question in Fourth period Math and they both knew she'd been staring out the window, watching the rain outside.

There was the crackle of static form the PA system. The teacher paused mid-question, expectantly.

" _Shermaine Pines to the Principal's office. Shermaine Pines to the Principal's office_."

There was a soft wave of oohing that ebbed over the class, the way it always did when someone got called out of class. Tadbolt frowned slightly like he was going to make a comment but he thought better of it and nodded at her turning around to pick on somebody else instead.

"Sherm, whaddya do now?" hissed Elena, her best friend, who had been painting her nails white with corrector fluid and now was staring at her with a look of bemusement.

Shermy shrugged unbothered, stuffing her pencil case in her bag.

"I haven't done nothin' this time. Cover for me if I'm late ta English?"

Her friend nodded, "Yeah, I'll save you a seat. Don't get expelled, yeah?"

"Thanks, Lena."

Tadbolt's yes were on them again.

"Miss Pines, Miss Gagliardi this is a math class, not a hair salon. Take your gossip elsewhere."

"Oh eat a dick, tadpole." Shermy muttered under her breath, but loud enough for other students to hear. It earned her a series of soft snickers that rolled outwards through the room like ripples in a rock pool.

"What was that, Shermaine?"

She bit back the smuggest possible smirk and chewed on the skin inside her cheek.

"Oh, Nothin'. Now if you'll excuse me, Mr Tadbolt, I'm needed elsewhere." And with a mock curtsy that was probably pushing her luck, she left the classroom at a brisk power-walk speed. In the hallway she broke into a jog and bounded headfirst into a skinny bespectacled boy wearing a hall monitor's badge.

He made a noise of disgust.

"Shermy no running in the halls, I'm telling ya every time I see you."

"Ugh, Neil. Give me a break already. Didn't you hear I've been summoned? I'm a dead girl walking."

"I heard, and you're not walking are ya? That's my point."

"Yeah and now I'm late cause I'm talking to your nerd ass. Ingenious Neil, you're really savin' the world here."

The boy pulled a face. "Oh fuck off, Pines."

She blew him a kiss and flipped him off with both hands at the same time. Neil ignored her and went back to patrolling the halls.

Down the hallways she headed, then into the waiting room for the principal's office, there was no one there however, and the secretary was out.

Shermy straightened her shirt collar peeking through her sweater, brushed her hair out with her fingers and knocked on the office door.

The woman who opened the door was terrifyingly familiar.

"Ma?" Her heart stopped, real ingrained fear coursing through her veins, she took a step back, images of a teenaged brother she'd only seen photos of flashing in her mind.

She held up her hands in her own defense. "Whatever they say, Ma, I didn't do it!" her voice sounded scared and childish.

Her mother crossed her hands across her chest and raised an amused over-plucked brow.

"Oh really?" she smirked.

The principal smiled wanly. "It's not that kind of meeting, Shermaine. Please take a seat."

"What's that mean then, not that kinda meeting?" she took the free chair next to her mother.

Her hands bunched into fists around her the cuffs of sweater sleeves. She squeezed the squishy knitted fabric. The wool was a deep orange colour, like the fall leaves outside.

"Watch your tone, Shermy." Her mother warned, lips smacking together. Her daughter dutifully shut her trap.

"We're just waiting one more." explained the principal.

Shermy turned to look at her mother.

"Is Pop coming?" she asked, struggling to keep the fear from her voice.

"Sorry, bubba, he's caught up with a customer right now. You'll have to make do with lil old me,"

"O-Okay?" Maybe this was for a good thing after all, she was sure if she'd fucked up spectacularly her father would want in on the admonishment.

"Shermy! Good to see you again, dear." The woman who arrived in the doorway was a cheery curvy lady in her mid-thirties with white teeth that flashed bright against rich brown skin. Shermy recognised her with a noise of surprise.

"Mrs C?" she glanced the clock, it was still fourth period, she wasn't due in English for another half hour.

She reached out and gave Shermy a reassuring squeeze on the arm. She liked Mrs Carson, if you got on her good side she was a sunshiny sweetheart of a woman, but if you crossed her or the students that she liked you were marked for death and she'd come for your snarky ass with detentions and a wit like a razor blade.

Apart from her own mother maybe, Mrs Carson was simultaneously the most vicious and loveable person Shermy had ever met and that was a persona she could get behind.

The teacher turned to Opal smiling.

"You must be Shermy's mother, Belinda Carson, I'm your daughter's English teacher."

"Opal Pines, I remember you from the parent-teacher meeting. Nice ta see ya again, English is little Sherm's favourite subject."

"Ugh, Ma…" 'Little Sherm' let out a nasal groan. "Don't be weird."

Her mother gave her a look, "I'm not bein' weird I'm tellin' the truth."

I doubt it, thought Shermy, though she knew better than to say it aloud.

The principal cleared his throat.

"Now Mrs Pines let's cut to the chase. Belinda here, entered some of your daughter's work into a national essay competition for young writers"

Opal raised her brows, red lips curving upwards in surprise.

"Wow Shermy, you didn't think to mention that at all?"

Her daughter shrugged her shoulders.

"I forgot." she muttered. To be completely honest she hadn't expected her parents to care. They were both busy people with a lot on their plates So she had just forgot about it put it away in her head with her other interests, she'd told her friends she'd entered and that was it.

She'd only agreed to enter on a whim. That was how she made most of her decisions anyway: blind impulse and boredom.

She was not expecting positive things to come out of a strategy like that. In fact, she wasn't really expecting anything at all, it was more just she had the impulse control of a magpie on caffeine.

"Did I get a placing?" Maybe she'd get a gift certificate, or some cash.

They needed the money, no one had been calling for readings recently, and the shop only brought in so much.

"Shermy, they select three pieces of writing, one from each of the topics that year."

"Yeah, you said somethin' like that."

"Your essay won its category." Explained her teacher, with a curve of her lips.

The information took a while to pierce Shermy's brain. "What?" she said, face blank.

"She won?!" asked Opal, voice getting shrill with excitement.

Mrs Carson shifted in her seat. "Out of about ten thousand other entries, Mrs Pines. Your daughter's essay won" she smiled even wider than before.

Shermy raised her eyebrows. "I didn't think it was any good.'

"Now, now. No need for modesty." The Principal smiled. "This is quite a commendation."

Shermy wasn't being modest she'd written the essay in class for a grade. Mrs C had thought it a creative take on the prompt and asked if she could enter it. She'd had a free period, it wasn't production season so she didn't have any clubs to go to, so on a whim Sherm had said yes.

She was hardly a writer. This was probably some kind of weird misunderstanding.

"When do I get to read this masterpiece, then eh?"

Shermy shifted uncomfortably. "Oh Mom, you don't wanna read that now." She said looking off into the distance. Why did she have to choose _that_ topic?

"Why not? Can't I be proud of my daughter?" she asked giving her a stern look. "You should be proud of yourself, too bubby. You don't get enough credit."

"It's just its…um..." she looked at Mrs Carson for input.

"I think Shermy means the topic might be personal to your family." the teacher added, still smiling.

"Oh, I see." She smiled thin-lipped. "Honestly, honey, don't worry about me, I'm sure it's nothing I can't handle.

* * *

 _Seeing Ghosts_

 _By Shermaine Pines, Glass Shard High School, New Jersey._

 _Do you believe in ghosts? I do. Not the kind that haunt old civil war battlefields or dilapidated mansions. I'm talking about ghosts that haunt people. The old woman who lives on the corner of my street, I see her walking her dogs on my way to school every morning, she's haunted. I can feel it the way she looks at me when we cross each other in the street. She sees me, I see her. The dogs sniff my shoes. Neither of us say 'Good Morning' we both know, the morning doesn't have to be good it's just a morning. Her ghost brushes its fingers through my hair. It hums a sad tune through her lips that makes my skin prickle. We repeat this every morning. Here in New Jersey the town I live in isn't that old but we have our fair share of hauntings. The man who sleeps outside the arcade, I know a ghost sleeps by him too. Old Violet, who runs the grocery store in town, she's got several. The children run down the aisles playing tag, the old man stands by keeping watch over her._

 _How do I know about this? I'm no psychic, I'm just haunted too. I have been since I was little. My ghost's name is Stanley. He used to be my brother. We've never spoken but sometimes I hear a phrase in my mother's voice and I know it's him. He's not a real ghost, at least, not in the way the movies show them. I can't talk to him. I can only see him in photos and sometimes in my face in the mirror, or when my parents turn away to pick something up, Stanley creases my father's brow or bites at my mother's lip. I know he's there. I know it's him. He never scares me, because ghosts aren't here to makes us scared, they're here to make us remember. My grandmother used to scare me when I visited her. She was always so full of anger and she slept with a loaded revolver by her bed. I was a five year old child when she died, I never stopped back then to think why, why was she so angry? Why did she sleep with a gun? Who was she afraid of? Now I know my history and I know there was a time when she needed that gun. I still think of her sometimes when I go to bed at night and I'm so grateful that I'm not afraid. I'm so grateful that she lived to be angry._

 _You see, the ghosts aren't here to remind us to be afraid, they're here to remind us to keep living. So when I'm waiting at the bus stop and Stanley smiles through my reflection or when the woman with the dogs whistles her eerie little tune I remember, I am alive and I am protected. I am not alone._

* * *

Her mother was sitting curled up in the window seat when Sherm got home from school. It was just before four but she already had large a glass of red wine in her hand. She swirled it as she stared out the window. Her face, which had been slathered in makeup earlier smoky eyes red lips and all, was now bare as a baby's. Her eyes, brown and almond shaped, sat sharp above her cheekbones. Her lips thin and pale on their own.

"Come 'ere, Shermy." She oozed with a grin. "Do I get a hug, my little Shakespeare?"

Shermy snorted, putting her school bag down. "I take it you read my essay then?"

Her mother nodded gesturing to where her paper lay on the living room table.

"Is it ok?" she asked, nervous all of a sudden, a board of essay judges from out of state was one thing. The people in the essay were the ones she gave a shit about.

"Okay ? Oh Shermy, darl. You're a regular Hemingway! You should be churning poems out by the bucket load! That's how good you are!" Opal spread her arms open wide for a hug and Shermy crossed the room to cuddle up with her on the window seat, like she used to do when she could still fit in her mother's lap while she worked.

Opal put her wine glass on the window sill and wrapped her bony arms around her daughter, her bangles clinking together she smelt of rose perfume and sandalwood, her hair hung loose around her shoulders like a shroud.

"It wasn't too…" Shermy paused trailing off searching for words, her head leant in the crook of her mother's arm. "Too…ugh… I don't know, too sad? Too personal?"

Opal's lips twitched and her eyes grew cloudy. She shook her head.

"He was your brother too, Sherm. You don't have to earn the right to grieve him, not matter how Stanford may feel 'bout that, you're part of the family too, kiddo."

Shermy hesitated, thinking about the other brother she hadn't seen in three years. He was a memory to her now too, a name written in cursive in the front of a book, and a grief-tinged memory from their brother's funeral.

Did her mother think that was the reason Ford didn't call?

She shifted her weight from her mother, moving back against the opposite side of the window her. She crossed her legs, her mother sipped her wine. Both women looked at each other.

"I was gonna mention him, but I thought adding twins into the equation would made it confusing for the reader."

Her mother smiled, lips crimson with wine.

"Hell hon, it was confusing for us too, sometimes. Especially when they'd switch glasses and clothes to prank us. At one point your father took to calling them both Stan to make it easier, but really that just made everything more difficult."

Opal laughed, a husky crinkly-eyed chuckle that made her look twenty years younger, like the version of her from the engagement photo that hung on the landing. Shermy didn't remember the last time she'd seen her mother like that.

"I'm glad you liked it, Ma. I didn't want it to upset ya."

Opal shook her head. "You didn't upset me honey. You should be proud of yourself."

"Mrs C said they might publish me in the paper, and there's some kind of award ceremony for the top essays."

"Really!?" her mother's voice grew nasally shrill. "Well wait til ya father gets off work, he needs to hear about this too y'know!"

Shermy smiled to herself, for the first time in a while she was proud of something she'd done.

Stanford's shadow of academic achievement wasn't looming over her, and it was something she was good at, she enjoyed writing, even if it was for school.

She felt good.


	11. Age 20: The Wedding

**A/N:** Hey sorry again for the hiatus! it's time for a wedding! First an important thing I need to say! I have fan art for this fic! I got a beautiful commission from the amazingly talented Carlie ghostfiish of Shermy and Stanley, set not long after this chapter so please, please check it out here if you want to know what Shermy looks like (She's kind of a cross between Mabel and Ma Pines and I love her very much).

Just a reminder Stanford in this chapter = Stanley as usual.

Shermy and David's procession song was God Only Knows by the Beach Boys because i'm cheesy as hell.

The song Stanley and Sherm are dancing to is 'These Arms of Mine' by Otis Redding which IMO is the no.1 slow dance song for weddings, I swear?

 _September 21st 1990, San Francisco, CA._

If Shermy had to sit still any longer she was going to start punching things.

She scrunched up her bare face in the mirror. She hadn't even had her makeup done yet and here she was already considering running for the hills.

"Karen, please let me move, it's been over an hour I can't feel my ass no more."

Her cousin tutted yanking another strand of chestnut brown hair and holding it taut before applying the hot curler.

"Patience, honey. I'm putting the last curler in as we speak then you can move ta your heart's content."

Sherm harrumphed. "Ugh, I need a drink." Her hands were a little unsteady she noticed, closing them into fists.

She glanced around the strange room in a strange house, David's parents'. There was so much that could go wrong today.

"Shermaine." Her mother scolded from behind her. "It's 9 o clock in the morning! That is no time for alcohol."

Shermy rolled her eyes. "Really mom, really?" she shot her mother a look of disbelief. "You're really going to try and moral high ground me on this the day of your daughter's wedding?'

Opal snorted, throwing her head back in a laugh at her daughter's expression.

"Nah, nah, I'm just messing with ya. I have gin in my purse." She let out another cackle, and pulled out two tiny clear bottles from her bag.

"I stole them from the hotel minibar this morning. "she explained with a wink. "Now, Elena darlin', pass me the orange juice before Mrs Chapman and Shayna get back, as far as they know we are a nice respectable family."

Elena, Shermy's best friend since high school and maid of honour, burst into laughter from her seat where she'd been stuffing her face with grapes and banana bread while she waited for her nails to dry. With both palms she very carefully passed Opal the jug from the spread of breakfast food David's mother and sister had set out for the bridal party. Upstairs there was some muffled conversation and footsteps from the groomsmen.

"I hate to break to you, Opal but they've met Shermy before so they're at least somewhat aware of what a crazy cavalcade they're marrying into."

Shermy placed a hand over her chest in mock offense. "Lena, really. I am a delight."

Her friend snorted again. "You sure are, Sherm."

"Don't be rude, you egg. I'm fucking wonderful and you know it." She refastened her robe which kept coming untied, she was still wearing her pajamas underneath. There was no way she was getting her dress on this early.

"Shermy, watch ya language." Opal passed her daughter the glass of gin and juice, and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "What is this called again? An Orange Blossom, right?"

Shermy grinned, moving her head, much to her cousin's vocal frustration. "Ma, you're amazin' but it's my wedding day I should be able to cuss if I want. Isaac's not here anyway."

"Yes, about that, we should send someone to go check he hasn't worn your old man out already."

"Pop will be fine, he loves being a Zaidie." Shermy smiled at her own reflection if there was one thing she wasn't expecting from motherhood was just how happily her stoic emotionally stunted father would take to looking after her son.

Opal grunted. "I know, but Izzy's a little firecracker and Fil is no spring chicken."

"Ma, don't worry about them." Shermy grinned, staring in the mirror as her cousin finished pulling at and curling her hair. "It's me you should be fussing over." She posed dramatically.

Karen snorted at that, "Yeah, yeah. I'm all done here, your majesty, budge over now I need to get started on poor neglected Elena over there."

"Yes poor neglected Elena who's stuffin her face with cinnamon rolls, I can't believe that she can stand such cruelty."

"Mmffh!" said her friend in what might have been indignation, wiping icing from her top lip.

Shermy snickered at her.

"Yeah right back at'cha."

There came a knock on the door. All four women paused and turned to look in the direction of the sound.

"Who is it?" called Shermy.

A male voice rang out. The accent was East Coast and familiar. "Who'd ya think it is, Richard Nixon?"

Opal snorted, running a hand back through her hair. "He wasn't invited." she shot back

The door cracked open a bit. The speaker appeared, already in his suit and tie.

"Fine, fine. It's boring old Stanford then." he said with a nervous smile.

Their mother yelped like she'd been branded.

"Fordsy!" She crossed the room like a shot and standing on tiptoes threw her arms around her son's neck. Ford chuckled.

"Hey, Ma. How you doin?" He murmured into her hair,

"Let him in, Mom. Don't just stand there in the doorway like a doofus."

Opal ignored her daughter. Busy trying to squeeze her son as tight as possible, in the vain hope that if she completely closed the gap she wouldn't have to let him go.

"Uhh Mom? I can't breathe no more." Stanford gasped out, her arms dangerously close to a chokehold.

"Sorry." She released him a little. "Bubby, I just missed you so much. Thank you for coming."

"It's fine, Ma. I missed ya too." Stanford shuffled in, a little awkwardly. Opal hanging off him like a limpet, her bare feet on top of his shoes, he placed a gloved hand on the small of her back to support her, and took a couple more steps into the room.

"How's the blushing bride, then?" He grinned over his mother's shoulder his arms still wrapped around her waist.

Shermy snorted into her orange blossom. "Less of the blushing and more of the pre-drinking."

Her brother chuckled. "That's my girl."

She didn't say anything just took a large swig from her glass.

"It's been a while, Shermy-Sherm."he said, voice nervous.

"Yeah. C'mere idiot." She buried her face in his grey lapel, it smelt faintly of gunpowder and tobacco she didn't want to pull away.

Karen harrumphed. "Hey watch, the hair, Stanford, I need to finish setting that!'

"Yeah, hello ta you too, Karen." He glanced at Elena in the chair.

"Hi, have we met?" he asked.

She shook her head, grinning. "Nope, but I know who you are!'

He smiled, lopsided and goofy. "Who doesn't?" He held out a gloved hand for her to shake.

"Six fingers?" she asked, surprised.

He shrugged, unbothered. "Yep."

Elena raised her eyebrows. "Neat."

"A little miracle that one. Means he's destined for greatness." Piped up Opal.

Ford shook his head, smiling to himself. "You can stop with that old fib, Mom. I'm not destined for anythin'."

His mother's face faltered. Shermy elected to ignore it.

"Ford, this is Elena my best friend since ages ago. Lena this is my idiot brother, Stanford."

"'M not an idiot, Shermaine." Her brother said sticking a lip out like a child.

His sister gave him a look. "Huh, well ya sure do act like one."

"That's enough you two! No fighting!"

"We're just kidding, Ma." Shermy rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, Ma. No harm done." Her brother backed her up.

Their mother didn't look convinced

"Hm-hm. Ford honey, your sister's not quite dressed yet why don't you go find your father?"

Stanford's face shifted through a kaleidoscope of expressions before settling on quiet distaste.

"Do I hafta?" he groaned, running a hand back through his hair.

"Izzy's with him, you could go visit your nephew." his mother added.

He turned around and grinned at his sister. "Better go get the little one out of the dragon's den." He said with a shrug.

Shermy smiled tiredly. "He won't be that bad, Ford. It's his daughter's wedding. Think of it like the in the godfather, today he has to be cordial."

Her brother sniggered at the comparison.

"I'll see you at the pre-ceremony then?" He asked shifting his weight from side to side, uncomfortable.

There came a sarcastic snort of laughter.

"Nah, I wasn't thinking of showing." His sister snarked. "You can sit in the big fancy chair yourself and have the family shower you with praise instead, if you'd like."

Ford grinned, seeming more at home with the sarcasm and the quick wit.

"I'll pass if it's all the same to you, kiddo." He fired back, smiling.

Opal smacked her lips together, both her children twitched in response.

"Shermy be appreciative! This is a big day for you." She gave her daughter a look.

Shermy rolled her eyes and downed her gin and juice. "Is it? I hadn't noticed, really."

Opal moved to lightly slap her daughter around the ear. "Hey less of the lip, Sherm."

"Ow, Ma! I'm kidding honestly!"

"I'll love you ladies to it then."

"Stanford, wait!" Opal moved to stop him.

"Yeah?" He turned back to look at her.

Opal leaned in to give her son a kiss on the cheek. "Love ya."

He flustered heat rising to his face.

"Yeah, uh, you too Ma." he stumbled over his words on his way out.

 _God, what a nerd_ , thought Shermy fondly, as her brother closed the door behind him.

Shermy sat in the seat of honour, her skirts fanning out in soft layers of lace and netting.

The corseting in her bodice stabbed her in the boob when she sat down. She shifted her seat for what felt like the thousandth time.

"You doing okay?" Asked Elena to her right. She got up and moved to the table, pouring her a glass of water. "You looked like you need one."

Sherm took the glass gratefully. She felt like she was melting and it wasn't all pre-wedding jitters. "Thanks. It's hot in this thing, I feel like I'm wearing a house with all this support in the skirt."

Elena grinned "I think you look fantastic Sherm." She said fondly. "Like a queen."

"Thanks doll." She took a sip of water, taking care not to lose all her lipstick. "Have you seen Isaac?"

"Your brother's got him."

"Stanford?" Shermy looked around trying to spot him in the throngs of guests.

Well do ya have any other brothers?"

"Not anymore no."

"What?" Elena's eyes widened. "Oh shit. Right. I'm sorry. Look never mind me, Sherm. They're over there." She looked where her friend gestured.

True enough, Ford had his little nephew in his arms and he was listening intently to whatever the child had to say.

Shermy waved them over. Her brother shot her a lopsided smile from across the room.

"Hey there squirt, look here's you mom and she's all decked out like a layer cake." Coming over, Stanford lowered his nephew on to the ground so he could stand, and straightening up he took in his sister in all her bridal glory. "Wow look at you! Little baby Sherm, you sure clean up nice."

"You don't look to shabby yourself nerd. Glad you didn't bring that awful monkey hat."

"Monkey?" said Isaac, intrigued. He was three, and rather enraptured with learning about different animals.

"Not a real monkey, little guy." She told him stroking his chubby cheek. She grinned at her brother. "Just a monkey's uncle."

Stanford put a gloved six-fingered hand over his chest.

"Harsh, Shermy. You wound me."

She snorted. "Pssh, you'll live Ford, you've seen worse." Her eyes sparkled with a smile but she kept it from her lips,

Ford rubbed at the back of his need, looking awkward.

"Yeah, well. I guess I should get my blessing in now, before they start a line.

His sister shrugged. "Only if you want to, it's not compulsory."

Ford leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead. The moment stretched out intimate and reverent, Shermy took both his hands in hers and squeezed them.

"Mazel Tov, Shermy. I wish you all the happiness in the world."

"Thanks Ford." She blinked quickly to dissipate any tears before they reached her lashes.

She hadn't spent three and a half hours in hair and makeup just to fuck it all up now.

Ford reached down and picked up Isaac, propping him up on his hip again. "It's your turn little Izzy, give your Mom a kiss then."

The boy held his lips against her cheek for a second and made a smacking nose with his mouth..

"Mwah." Said Izzy, who hadn't quite grasped the concept of cheek kisses yet but he knew the noise.

Shermy little out a giggle. "Thanks little man."

A few other relatives were starting to line up behind him, taking their conversation as the time to give Shermy their blessings.

"I'll see you after the ceremony, little sister." Stanford said readjusting Isaac on his hip.

"I love ya, Ford." She closed her eyes to say it, because opening them risked her shedding tears.

Her brother flustered again.

"You too, kiddo." He said, tripping awkwardly around the other guests.

Shermy let them go, and moved her attention on to the next guest in line, her cousin Karen.

The guest were seated, the Rabbi was waiting, the Beach Boys started to play over the stereo system.

Shermy Pines took a deep breathe in, soaking in her last minutes as a single woman.

They walked down the aisle together: her and both her parents. They stopped at the wedding canopy, Shermy squeezed her mother's arm, and she turned to embrace her briefly before she let her go.

"Thanks, Ma." she said into her dark hair, that Karen had curled and piled elegantly upon her head. Her mother smelt of roses and sandalwood.

"My little girl, my baby." Her mother brushed her lips over her daughter's hands.

"Don't cry yet Ma, we haven't even started." Shermy said with a quiet chuckle. She wiped a tear from her mother's cheek with a finger. "You'll ruin your mascara."

Her mother chuckled wiping her own face.

"Just watch me, bubba." Opal murmured, going back to her seat next to Ford and Isaac.

Through her veil Shermy turned and pressed a kiss to her father's cheek.

"I love you, Pop." She said, her voice feathery. She held back her tears with sheer force of will, her veil covered her face so she could risk a tear or two right now but she just didn't want to. Karen had spent ages on her makeup after all. Filbrick squeezed her hands so tightly she thought her fingers might break.

There was a gentle moment that passed between them, her father's moustache quivered. She couldn't see his eyes beneath his glasses but Shermy was pretty sure he was smiling.

"You too, motek." Finally Filbrick released her and David moved to take her hand. Her father nodded once to him and moved back to take his seat next to her mother. Opal Pines was already weeping softly. Isaac sat looking bored in her lap and Stanford had wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Shermy glanced at them, blew her son a kiss and gave Ford a smile. Her brother winked back at her.

"Hey stranger." She whispered to David as they approached the rabbi together, underneath the chupah.

Shermy moved to be as close to his side as possible without tripping him up on her dress.

"Hi." He whispered back grinning at her, a dorky look of wonder on that face she adored. "Come here often?"

Shermy didn't bother containing her giggle, her nerves sublimed up into the air and everything just felt right. "Uh, yeah actually. Every Week." She muttered back at him, deadpan, her smile as big and as goofy as his own.

David smiled back at her and she felt it light up the wedding tent they stood under.

"Are you two ready?" the rabbi asked watching their banter with an amused quirk of his brow.

They looked at each other, Shermy squeezed David's hand.

"We are." they said together.

"I'm so glad you came", she said to her brother, as they danced together slowly to an Otis Redding song.

It was after dinner and speeches, Shermy and David had had their first dance, they'd cut the cake, Opal had put Isaac to bed hours ago. Now the dance floor had opened up, the DJ was playing a slow song, and it seemed Stanford had consumed enough from the open bar to ask his little sister to dance.

They waltzed together, Stanford leading.

He shook his head fondly. "Oh kiddo, I wouldn't miss this for the world." He said, smiling at her like she'd hung the stars in the sky.

She shrugged it off. "Still, it means a lot you're here."

Her brother tilted his head on the side, smiling. "Did you doubt that I'd come."

"No", she lied. Staring him dead in the eyes, unwavering. "I never did."

They turned around in their waltz, Ford sneaked a glance at their parents table. Their father was away on Isaac duty and Opal was busy chatting away to other guests.

"Ma looks happy, like actually happy. Can't say the last time I've seen that." Ford remarked.

Shermy nodded. "She gets on pretty well, with David's family, I mean she's at a social situation and everything you know how she loves to play pretend."

He snorted softly, more of a snuffle than a laugh. "Oh, I sure do."

"Recently she's made more of a habit of drinking too much at family things and dragging out all the skeletons. This is definitely an improvement."

"Oh Great." Her brother's expression looked how she herself felt about the situation: tired, annoyed but largely unsurprised.

"Yeah, did you know Aunt Rebekah had a DUI? Because Mom did and now _everyone_ knows."

Stanford laughed self-deprecatingly. "Shit, I hate to think what she says of me."

"She doesn't much, Ford. Except that she misses you and that she wishes you'd call."

His smile faltered. "Oh… Sherm, I'm sorry."

"I'm not the one you have to apologise to, knucklehead."

He sighed, evidently deciding it was time to change tunes.

"What else is new in California?"

"Not much. Ma and Pa are talking about moving out here, to be near both of us and Isaac. I dunno if they can afford it but they're thinking about it at least."

Ford raised his brows. "Good for them, guess they'll finally get out of that dump like they wanted."

Shermy frowned "It's not a dump, Ford. Well maybe it is to you, but it's their home. I grew up there I mean it's shitty sure but loved that place."

Ford smiled, it was a sad smile, nostalgic and thoughtful. He changed the subject.

"You've changed since I last saw ya, I can't believe that scared little sixteen year old is even the same person as you now."

His sister's features softened majorly. "A lot can happen in four years, you know. You've been…away."

"Oh, Shermy-Sherm." Her brother sighed.

The song reached its chorus, Stanford spun her around in his arms then caught her again.

She smiled, tired and hungry for happy endings.

A fairy-tale ending to a storybook day: The prodigal son returns and begs for his family's forgiveness. All is well, the end.

 _Yeah, right._

Stanford stumbled over his apologies.

He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry kid. I know I said I wouldn't leave ya again but the last few years got away from me."

She leaned her head against her brother's chest, she could feel his heartbeat above the music. She didn't say anything just yet. She didn't yet have anything to say.

He shook his head, she felt it more than saw it, he stroked the skin of her arm.

"I've been a shitty brother." he said finally.

 _Yeah, you have._ She thought, but she had more sense than to let the words reach her tongue.

"That's not the whole of it, not completely, Ford. I mean, I didn't expect you to keep your promise"

"You didn't?" he sounded almost hurt, that his character was somehow under attack.

She shook her head. This wasn't a fairy-tale, Ford was not asking to be forgiven, and his absence wasn't a hole easily filled in with fake promises and concrete. Besides, no matter what happened between them Stanley would still be dead.

Anyway, Shermaine Pines was a fucking adult, not some a princess in a story. She was a tired young woman with sore feet. She'd come to California from small-town New Jersey and she'd had fight to get to where she was standing, in her big brother's arms slow dancing on the night of her wedding. She wasn't about to place all her happiness in the hands of someone she hardly knew. Even if he was her brother.

"I've grown up with Ma for a moral compass, Ford." She said with an exasperated laugh. "Forgive me if I don't put my heart in pinkie promises, no more."

The corner of her brother's lips twitched. "Well, yeah, I guess but nevertheless I meant to keep it."

"I'm sure you did, but we're both adults we've both got busy lives, I'm not even asking you to be a huge part of mine, I'm just asking for a phone call now and then, you don't have to drive ten and a half hours or whatever up to come hold my hand whenever I need it." She took a deep breath in, her face in his lapel.

"-just call me now and then. Actually try to talk to your mother once in a while. I mean I know things change, it's natural to grow apart, but I just want you to fuckin' try to be a part of this family."

In any other situation this could have been an argument, a bust-up, a family row, but it wasn't.

This was how the Pines' sibling dealt with their shit, if they needed to talk it out in the middle of a slow song on a semi-crowded dance floor surrounded by friends and family members then that's where they were gonna talk it out

"I'm here ain't I?" he said, expression pained. "I _am_ trying."

Shermy smiled but it was tinged with sadness, she wasn't so entirely wrapped up in her own elation that she hadn't thought about her brother's feelings.

"But you don't wanna be here."

Ford stiffened in her arms. The song was almost over, she hugged her brother closer taking shuffling steps together, in a tiny box waltz.

He opened his mouth to defend himself but didn't seem to have a response

"Says who?" he said pressed against her shoulder, uncomfortable.

"You, Stanford. Your body language. I can tell, ya know. I'm not an idiot."

"I'm just…" he made a series of elaborate hand gestures that meant nothing. "This social stuff is hard for me, kiddo. I don't mind when it's just us or us and Mom and Pops. But this- everyone keeps treatin' me like some kinda ghost. I mean it's been ten years almost. I just wanna move on from it, Sherm. I know he's not here I don't need reminding"

"I know, Fordy, and I'm sorry. People are dumb. Most of the cousins and extended family see it as the family soap opera they can turn on and off at will." She grimaced at the analogy

"They don't have to live in the cracks like we do. They don't have to live with the blow back, Dad's gambling, Ma's crying jags, our…"

She paused. "Well, our whatever it is we have to cope: booze, isolation and a punching tree."

"Punching tree?" He raised his bushy brows in amusement,

Shermy grinned. "Behind our new house, there's this big tree I've started to go punch when I'm pissed off."

Ford chuckled from deep in his throat the sound came out warm and oaky.

"Ain't we a mess?" He smiled. The song had reached its conclusion, they moved to the side to let other dancers take their place.

Shermy hugged her brother round the neck once more, breathing him in. Ford smelt so familiar and safe.

She'd missed this. Just being close enough to hug him. She'd missed him so fucking much.

They pulled away, Ford hurriedly cleared his throat of any lumps, and Shermy pressed her fingers under her eyes lightly as to not smudge her makeup any more.

"I should go check on David, last I saw of him he was stuck talking to Aunt Selma and that is not a fate I'd wish on anyone especially not my own husband." The word tasted like sugar on her tongue, _her husband_. She was _married_ to her favourite person in the world. "That witch will talk him to death, all of it lies no doubt."

"He makes you happy doesn't he?" Said Stanford as she'd turned to go. Spotting David and by his glasses falling down his nose and his curly brown mop of hair. A polite look of fake interest crossed with mild alarm by the old woman's story he was listened to.

Shermy's face split into a grin, the full brightness honey-eyed, teeth-showing Shermy Pines-trademarked grin. There was a rush in her veins, the childish love-struck dopamine that still came whenever she glanced at David.

"The happiest I've ever felt." She said, and she really meant it.

Ford nodded satisfied. "Good, I'm happy for both of ya, Shermy. You deserve good things."

"Thanks, big brother, I could say the same to you." She leaned in and kissed him once on the cheek.

Today was a good day.


	12. Interlude: Reiteration (Mabel & Dipper)

**AN:** Set at the same time as Ch. 4. 'Rumination'. It's the night after the events of NWHS/ATOTS and Mabel can't sleep.

Even the most understanding parents can't prevent the Pines' family issues from reaching the 3rd generation, and Laura and Isaac genuinely want the best for the twins but in requesting they be left out of the big family secret that was Stanley (for their own good considering what happened to Sam and Merm) they ensured the eventual reveal would hurt Mabel all that more.

This is meant to be a combined Mabel and Dipper chapter even if it's in Mabel's POV because I don't think Dipper feels the parallels between the two sets of twins so keenly, otherwise he'd be more aware of how and why his sister acts like she does in DaMVTF (I won't be referencing any of the weirdmageddon plot in this series just in foreshadowing, the final chapter will be set after the show so the last two episodes won't affect it in theory)

"There is sadness in the family, Dad told me  
Let's not speak of it, it only brings us down  
And there's sadness in the DNA, I've known it  
I've felt it in the pavements of this town."

 _Dad Told Me by Hello Saferide_

* * *

 _"You don't think we'll turn out like Stan and Ford do you?"_

 _"What do you mean?"_

 _"I mean, they used to be best friends, but then they got all stupid. Can you promise me you won't get stupid?"_

 _"I'm not stupider than you, dumdum."_

 _"Goodnight, stupid."_

 _"Night, stupid."_

Mabel was awake. There were tears in her eyes but she didn't know who they were for, the twins cleaved apart by time and space and ancient mistakes or for the twins forged in adventure and companionship? The twins who were as thick as thieves yet never sure if that was close enough to last.

Dipper was asleep. She heard him mumbling about Ford under his breath. She looked over, he was rolled on his side an arm hung over the bed.

"Heya Dipdop?", she whispered.

He didn't stir.

"I love you, stupid." She said to the dark. She tried closing her eyes.

* * *

 _2007, Piedmont, California._

Mabel hurtled down the hall into the cheery yellow bedroom she shared with her twin.

"Dipper? Mommy, says we're going now! Come on brobro, where are you?"

Their bedroom was seemingly empty. She checked under both beds. Nothing. There was a soft sniffling coming through the slats in their closet door. She found her twin hiding inside sitting on the floor his new floral dress, the same one as she wore, stretched over his knees, tears staining his chubby cheeks.

"What are you doing in here? We need to be going!"

"Dipper held up a small lock of brown hair. The scissors still in his hand. He wiped at his nose with back of his hand.

"I don't wanna..." he said scrunching up his tiny face. "This stupid thing. I'm not wearing it. C'mon Mabel help me out!"

Mabel just nodded. She knew.

"Take it off! I'll do something with it." She moved out of the closet into their room and threw some trousers in her twin's direction. Mabel scoured the room checking her options. She'd been playing with her stuffed toys before lunch and she'd left an unfinished juice box on the side table. Perfect.

"Give me the dress, and put those pants on. Don't cut your hair anymore though just tie it up for now, you can get it cut properly later."

Dipper looked at her like she was the rising sun. "Thanks Mabel."

"Don't mention it, brobro. What are siblings for?" She placed some construction paper underneath the dress to prevent staining the carpet and she squeezed the remnants of the juice box over the pale printed fabric.

Their mother's footsteps echoed down the hall. Mabel slam dunked the juice box into the wastebasket.

"Twins! C'mon we'll be late! Mabel honey where's your sister?"

"Getting changed, I got grape juice on Dipper's dress on accident."

Dipper came out of the walk in closet buttoning up his shirt, hair tied up and out of his face in a messy bun.

Laura Pines was not a stupid woman, she knew how the twins functioned and she wanted to be as understanding as possible, but she was still coming around to this whole 'boy' thing, they were seven. How could they be so sure of something so grown up? She sighed. Now wasn't the time for debating it either. She looked between her children. Dipper was smiling, wiping away snot and tears. Mabel was glowing with righteous protective sibling anger. Daring her mother to call her out on it. She let them win this time.

"Mabel go wash your hands. Dip, sweetheart, give me that dress it needs to go in to soak. Go get in the car, we don't want to make your Nonna wait for us now do we?"

Dipper shook his head, a small smile forming on his lips.

00000ooo000

Mabel pushed back the covers, she couldn't sleep like this. Everything that had happened that day, she couldn't so easily push that aside. Thoughts buzzed round her head like the summer mosquitoes.

What if she had pushed the button? Would Ford be gone forever then? The thought that Mabel came dangerously close to crushing her beloved Grunkle's dreams and damning his twin to an early grave. It made her stomach turn loop-the-loop and it tied her guts into knots.

Then there was the whole issue of Ford himself, he seemed nice enough, if a bit of a nerd, but Grunkle Stan acted like he _hated_ him, or maybe the real issues lay the other way around. Grunkle Stan told them that they used to be the best of friends just like her and Dipper.

 _Could that mean?_

Mabel's chest clenched tight.

 _Well it didn't bear thinking about._

Mabel squeezed her tiny hands to fists. No, that would never happen to them. It couldn't. She wouldn't let it. She pulled the pink key sweater she'd worn that day over her nightshirt. She scooped up a sleeping Waddles and swaddled him in her arms like a baby. Then, with a passing glance at her sleeping twin, Mabel slipped out into the landing.

The Grunkles had stopped arguing about an hour ago, no doubt worn out by the day's events and headed to their respective bedrooms. She hoped they get along better in the morning, maybe this would all just blow over and they could all have pancakes and play mini golf.

She headed through her and Dipper's not so secret hatch that led to the roof. She put the pig down beside her after sternly warning him to keep away from the edges. Mabel looked up at the night sky. It was so quiet.

"Look at the stars, Waddles! Aren't they clear here?"

The pig did not respond.

She and Dipper often came up to the roof to stargaze when they couldn't sleep. A habit they'd learnt from their Dad who'd in turn taken their family traditions of insomniac stargazing and twin hot chocolate from his own mother and sisters respectively. It was her favourite tradition. She had a lot of fond memories of late night stargazing.

* * *

 _June 2012, Piedmont California._

Mabel sat wrapped in a blanket and a jacket of her Dad's way too big for her tiny frame. It was just after eleven on a clear night, the twins should have been in bed hours ago, but ten-year-old Mabel had had a nightmare, a bad one brought on by a particularly scary episode of the X-files her brother had been watching earlier that day.

Now they were bundled up together on their parents' second floor balcony as their Dad fiddled with the telescope lens. Even though she wasn't scared anymore, Dipper held her hand. A wordless apology for indirectly giving her bad dreams.

"Come on you two, who wants the first go? Mabel?" Isaac Pines peered over at his children.

She shook her head and nodded at her twin.

"You go first, Dip." She said softly, her voice still quiet and uncertain. She was sleepy but on edge and she didn't want to go back to bed.

Dipper, hovered unsure whether to move or insist she go first. After a while he moved over and put an eye against the viewfinder.

"Everything's so clear tonight." He breathed, wonder in his voice. Mabel smiled to herself and cuddled her father's jacket tighter around her shoulders.

"A good place to start for looking at constellations would probably be Orion's belt, you can find it by three stars close together in a straight line.

"Hey look Mabel, it's you!" her brother exclaimed.

Mabel's heavy eyelids blinked awake at "Me?" she frowned, confused.  
Isaac frowned too, Dipper moved aside so their father could take look through the telescope.

"Huh. He's found Polaris, honey, like Nonna's nickname." her father smiled, and leant over to ruffle his son's hair. "Nice going, Dip."

Her grandmother's nickname for her didn't stick like Dipper's had but it was still a cute little joke within the family.

"Can I have a look, Dad?" she asked, voice raspy with sleep.

Isaac nodded, and beckoned her over.

"Sure thing. Come over here and look through." He said.

Mabel looked into the lens at the selection of bright little pinpricks of light. They were so far away.

She stared at them as a whole, like a connect-the-dots puzzle she needed to solve. Below the brightest star she could see a familiar shape, she stared at it harder imagining the lines beginning to form between the points.

Mabel gasped. She looked up grinning. "Hey Dad! I can see the Big Dipper too!"

"Yeah, you usually find them together." Isaac explained holding the telescope still for her. "Ursa Major points north towards Polaris."

Mabel's eyes grew huge.

"Like twin stars?" She turned to grin at her brother, she held up a hand for a high five.

"Well, I guess so." Said their father, shrugging.

"Twin Stars." Dipper echoed and he clapped his hand against hers, scooting up closer to his sister so he could take another turn to look through the telescope.

Mabel snuggled up close to him, she didn't feel afraid anymore.

She felt safe out here under the stars.

'o00oooo00000

Fate wasn't a real thing Mabel believed in, sure by all means she loved that romantic movie star-crossed lovers stuff in movies and puppet shows, but applied to her life here, outside of her own fantasy land she wanted nothing to do with it. She didn't want to think about History repeating itself.

No, no, no. Mabel Laura Pines was her own independent woman. She was not fated to do anything, just like Dipper was not fated to cause anything. Their relationship was not doomed to fail, they loved each other and they were like peas in a pod. Ursa Major and Polaris. Dip and Mabel. That was all that mattered.

 _Wasn't it?_

Then why was Mabel awake this late, sitting out alone under the stars?

Why were their tears threatening to spill from her eyes again, why was her head filled with trepidation and doubt and memories of twin aunts who used to do everything together, and now didn't speak the other's name.

That's who she'd thought of this evening.

When the smoke cleared, when her family was safe, when storied were told. Mabel had been thinking about the rest of the family. Her twin aunts who used to do everything as a unit, who'd had their bat mitzvah together, who'd used to babysit young Mabel and Dipper as a team.

Then there was her Dad, and her Nonna Shermy who'd always happily shared tidbits of Pines family history but never once mentioned she had more than one older brother, twin brothers even. Did she not know? Or did she think Stanley dead in a car crash like they'd found in the newspaper clipping?

Mabel leaned over and lying face down she wrapped her arms around Waddles, burying her face against the pig's skin.

"I really am just being stupid about this, right Waddles?"

The pig snuffled sympathetically.

"The thing is, I don't know who I'd be without him. I mean I'd still be Mabel, but Mabel is a twin. Take him away and you take away part of me."

* * *

 _November 2010, Piedmont, California._

"Tell me what I did to wrong her, Izzy." Her aunt Samantha sighed, glancing over at Mabel's father. Her glasses were slipping down her nose, her expression dejected, her long hair tied back. She picked up the soldering iron again and continued to join the wiring in the circuit board she was working on. Turning her frustration on to the task at hand. In the background her elder brother was helping her dismantle an ancient 90s monitor they'd had lying around the house for ages.

Mabel looked up at her from where she sat on the living room floor happily playing with her unicorns. She was listening to the adults chatter, not particularly paying them much attention. She liked her aunt and she didn't see her often because she was usually so busy with school. Recently Sam had started dying her brown hair bright colours. Right now it was a shocking pink. Mabel was in love with her aunt's hair. It looked like a cotton candy ponytail streaming down her back.

Isaac sighed, set down his screwdriver and moved over to lean a comforting hand on his sister's shoulder, trying not to knock her hands busy at work.

He released her shoulder and ran his hand back through his hair, the same curly texture and deep cool brown as both his children.

"I would if I could, Tesla." He said, using her old family nickname. "But I honestly don't think you've done anything wrong. Mom thinks she's just distancing herself prematurely, so she can do something on her own for once."

"I know and I want her to be happy but Chicago is so far away and I don't know how to be alone I've never been alone all my life! I can't just switch into singleton mode, like that. She's knows big changes screw me over, and so she knows how hard this is for me, and she won't even talk about it." Samantha let out a low growl in the back of her throat. Her hands were opening and clenching again over and over to calm herself down. She sighed.

"I feel like I'm screwing everything up just by existing the way I am."

Her brother frowned. "Don't talk like that Sam. Focus on the good things, you're going to the best technical school in the country. I mean isn't that amazing? Who else can get a place at West Coast Tech straight out of high school like that? I'd have killed for that at seventeen!"

"You had other things to worry about at my age." his sister murmured, her eyes tracked to Mabel.

Isaac glanced briefly at his daughter playing on the floor and grinned.

"Yeah, two tiny surprises, still everything turned out alright for me and Laura." He picked a long strand of pink hair from the fabric of Sam's shirt. "It'll all pan out fine for you too, okay bubby?"

"God, I hope so." Sam said with a forced laugh, a fat tear rolled down her cheek, she let out a shaky breath to mask a sob. "I hope so, I hope so." She whispered over and over to herself, sniffling.

Isaac's lips twitched sympathetically. He put a hand on her shoulder again.

"Come on don't Mom out on me, Tesla. Do you need a hug?" He asked.

Sam nodded, she leaned her head against her brother's chest. Her head fit neatly under his chin. Isaac wrapped his arms tight around her and kissed her bright pink head.

"It will be alright, Sam." He murmured. "She'll snap out of it."

Mabel, still sat playing on the floor, had long since turned her attention from her unicorn adventures and was listening to the adults' conversation with growing levels of distress.

"Daddy what's wrong?" she asked, her own voice cracking.

Isaac smiled over his little sister's shoulder.

"Nothing's wrong, _shterndel_." he said, voice surprisingly calm. " Why don't you go play in your room or with your brother, Hm?"

Mabel scrunched up her little face. "He's playing video games and he doesn't want me to help him with it 'cause I kept winning."

Her aunt barked out a sudden laugh, despite her tears.

"Ha! That sounds about right!" Sam pulled away from the hug, wiping at her cheeks.

"Sounds like Dip's the sore loser in your set." She paused and gave her brother a side-eyed look "Just like Merm." She whispered.

Isaac sighed and shook his head. "Sam, don't project on my kids, yeah? It's bad enough putting up with Mom." He paused, looking over at his daughter again. "But seriously sweetie, your aunt and I have grown-up stuff to talk about, are you sure you don't wanna go hang in Dipper's room again?"

Mabel nodded, not because she wanted to but she knew there was stuff going on she didn't want to think about, stuff like siblings fighting. She set about gathering up her toys.

"Go ask to play with your brother, Mabel. If you let him win some of the time I'm sure he'll feel better about it.

Mabel hugged a toy unicorn to her heart. She'd let Dipper win every game if it meant they'd never ever fight again.

* * *

She awoke to someone shaking her shoulder. The open sky above her was lightening and almost devoid of stars.

The Big Dipper edged into her view. Only now it was a freckly pink and covered by a curl of brown hair.

Her Big Dipper. She closed her eyes again, only to be shaken again.

"Hey! Mabel?" said a familiar voice.

She startled upwards.

"Wha-? Who?" Her twin was regarding her with a mixture of concern and amusement.

"It's just me stupid. I got up to pee and you weren't in bed, I just wanted to check you're okay."

Mabel stretched her back clicking loudly. "I couldn't sleep so I went up here to look at the stars."

Dipper chuckled, running a hand though his curls. "Mabel, it's 4am. It's nearly sunrise."

Her eyebrows shot up.

"What! Aw man, I must have fallen asleep up here." She groaned "That explains why my arms and legs are so itchy.

As if to illustrate her point she scratched at the new welts on her arm.

Dipper scrunched up his nose. "Gross. But don't worry, I've got some cream in our room. It stops the itching."

Mabel's chest felt lighter, less like she was being emotionally squeezed like a lemon.

"Thanks, Nerdbird. You're the best." she said with a full-watt Mabel smile.

Her brother grinned back. "Yeah, I am pretty great aren't I?" He hesitated. "Are you alright?"

She nodded. "Yeah, It was such a crazy day. It just needed to think."

"Evidently your giant brain got overworked and conked out on you."

"Shut up, doofus." She retorted, waking Waddles, beside her.

Dipper blew a raspberry. "No, you."

Mabel examined the new raised line of bug lines along her arms

"Eugh." She groaned again, still scratching. "Itchy."

Her brother shook his head. "Come downstairs, Mabel. I gotcha back."

"-and I got your back too!" She held the trapdoor open for him to climb down first.

 _History didn't have to repeat, right?_


End file.
